


Paper Cranes

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama/Romance, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair has a wish he'd like granted.  And with the help of the cranes, he just might get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Cranes

Standard Disclaimer: Pet Fly and UPN, and probably others, own the concept, the characters, and the title of The Sentinel. I, on the other hand, own nothing. I'm not out to make a profit, not out to violate any kind of copyright, nor to run circles around their legal department. I just want to take them out and play with them for a bit; I promise to return them unharmed, maybe a little bit sweatier than when I found them. Hopefully a lot happier.

In my little corner of the fictional world, STDs do not exist. Call it poetic license. In the real world, they are all too real and scary. Condoms. Use them every single time. No exceptions. No excuses. I want everyone around for a long time, happy and healthy. Ahem. :::Steps down from the soapbox::: I feel much better, now. 

Many thanks to those who read this for me: Emily B, Carla C, who gave me help and suggestions, and of course, to Nita, who betas like a wizard, although she does have a tendency to poke me with the sharp stick of canon. I should've invested in the bandaid industry. :-) Thanks to Merry, for posting this on her excellent site. This work may be archived, but for anything else, please contact me first. Comments may be sent to me at Deirdre815@aol.com. A big thanks to everyone who commented on my first story; it gave me the nerve to write again.

And now, on with the show.

The Sentinel J/B NC-17

**Paper Cranes**

by 

Deirdre

Police work, Jim Ellison reflected, was seldom as exciting as it was portrayed in the media.

Mostly, it was a whole lot of waiting. Stakeouts often went days without providing information, as this one had. They'd been watching the girlfriend of an armed robber, thinking he might be stupid enough to return and seek shelter there. It sounded idiotic that he would, but in Jim's experience, there were actually very few highly-intelligent criminals. A few, yes, but on the whole, criminals were generally not very bright. Small things tripped them up; he just waited for that to happen, then pounced. He was a patient man; military service, and time with Covert Ops had cultivated that virtue in him. 

He sighed softly and rubbed the back of his neck. At least he wasn't confined to the small quarters of a police surveillance van. Cascade PD had gotten lucky this time; a house across the street had been vacant, and they'd set up their covert watch there. He had room to stretch, to pace, to move around, and as tall as he was, that was a distinct luxury. Cramped quarters were one of the drawbacks to surveillance. Normally an active man, the hours of waiting often wore on him, making his muscles stiff, his body much more tired than it should be. When he was younger, in his twenties and early thirties, sitting quiet and motionless for hours on end hadn't bothered him much, but as he got older, it seemed to bring a twinge or two that took a lot of stretching to work out.

The clicking sound of a keyboard stopped. He could hear the laptop powering down, and the sharp snap of the top closing. He glanced at the clock. Three twenty-five. It was about time for Sandburg to stop; he'd been willing to give the man until four to wind things up before he hounded him to get some sleep.

Jim's eyes flicked to the window glass, where he could see Blair clearly reflected by the single small desk lamp. The grad student was sitting quietly at the table, his gaze somewhere off in middle distance, thinking. His reading glasses caught the light, became opaque sheets of glass, concealing the wide, dark blue eyes. The wire-rimmed glasses made him look a little older, more studious, seemed somehow to temper the energy that crackled just beneath his skin.

Blair had more energy than any two people Jim knew--how else could he keep up with classes, with teaching, with his Sentinel research for his doctoral thesis, and tag along after him at the station? It made him tired, just to think of it. Blair had been going since six that morning, a blitzkrieg of activity. He should have called it quits hours ago; Jim knew his own stamina was nowhere as near prodigious, and envied Blair his ability to go on so little sleep. 

Blair removed his glasses and set them on top of the computer, then rubbed his eyes, a curiously vulnerable sight. Jim could tell Blair was tired; it seemed to seep from his pores. The young man ran his hands through his long, curly dark hair, tugging a little, as if to pull out some of the tension, before he went into a luxurious stretch. Jim watched as Blair flung his arms upward, fingers wide, and leaned backward over the chair, going into a curve that seemed almost impossible for the lithe body to achieve. He could hear vertebrae pop, and the soft sigh of relief. Blair's shirt rode up over his flat stomach, and in the mat of hair, the silver of the navel ring flashed at him. Jim forced himself to look away a moment, to focus on the street outside. That little glint of silver peeking out at him was unsettling for reasons he didn't care to explore deeply. It was exotic; he knew of no one else who had one, but somehow, it fit Blair exactly. Blair had more pierced than just his navel--his left ear sported two silver hoops, and his right nipple was also pierced with a little silver ring; Jim had seen it once when Blair had emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a large bath sheet. Left ear, right nipple, navel; the silver seemed to draw a zigzag line down his body, arrowing directly to...

Jim jumped, and opened his eyes wide as he felt Blair's slender hand come down on his shoulder.

"Are you okay, man?" Blair's soft voice was concerned. "You looked like you were zoning."

"No, I'm fine. Just thinking." Blair's scent, spicy, slightly musky, overlaid with herbal overtones, surrounded him, filling his nose, filling his head, seeping into his brain. He'd know that unique scent anywhere, could find him in a crowd by it; he was certain it was imprinted on him down to the genetic level.

"All right. Just checking in." Blair patted his shoulder, and his skin seemed to tingle. "You hungry? I packed sandwiches and fruit. If we had a microwave, we could have brought some of that lentil soup I made yesterday."

"No, I'm not, not right now. I'll eat later. You could stand to eat though. You're getting thin, Sandburg."

He turned in time to see the exasperated look flash over Blair's face, the generous mouth twisted in a rueful grin. "Yes, Mom. And then I'll have nap time before I go play with my friends."

"Just remember to look both ways before crossing the street." Jim couldn't resist the tease, and was rewarded by a snort of amusement from the younger man.

Jim returned his gaze to the street outside, but could hear Blair rustling around, getting a sandwich and a bottle of water before settling down on the floor beside Jim's chair, his back to the wall beneath the window. Jim glanced down briefly. The sandwich Blair was unwrapping had the horrifying look of something healthy, with whole wheat bread, bean sprouts, and God knew just what else. Tofu? Jim shuddered. Blair was always trying to improve his diet; in the three years they'd been roommates, Jim supposed he actually had. He even knew what hummus and baba ganouj was, for God's sake. What other detective in Major Crimes did? 

Blair looked up and caught his amused expression. "What?"

"I was just thinking how I'd kill to have a triple cheeseburger with bacon right about now."

Blair rolled his eyes and heaved a theatrical sigh; it was an old argument, more now for fun than in seriousness. "Go ahead man, clog those arteries, stroke out. See if I clean your butt and change your diapers for you."

"That's what I like about you, Sandburg. You're so caring."

Blair took a swig of water, and Jim was drawn to the movement of that long, smooth throat. If he concentrated, he could hear the rush of blood beneath that fair skin, the rhythm of his heart. The steady sound of Blair's heart comforted him, calmed him; it was the last thing he heard before sleep, the first thing he checked for upon awakening. He knew it better than his own. 

He wasn't aware he'd been staring until Blair's steady gaze met his. Jim flushed a little, and looked away. What was the matter with him? He felt unsettled in some way, uncomfortable, and didn't like it.

"Anything wrong, Jim?" Blair's voice was soft, soothing, the Guide voice, lulling him, centering him.

"No. Just tired, I guess." He was aware of Blair's attention for a moment longer, then felt the intensity of the young man's gaze return to his food. In his peripheral vision, he saw Blair dissecting the remaining half of the sandwich in his usual manner. Initially, Blair's seemingly compulsive tearing apart of food items had annoyed him--why couldn't he just eat the damn thing like everyone else instead of shredding it--but like most other odd things Blair did, it now seemed perfectly normal. 

The street outside was quiet, the house across the street dark. No movement, nothing suspicious. He dialed up his Sentinel hearing, making a sweep of the neighborhood. Nothing, except for the rustling of wildlife, the sounds of cars in the distance, the usual sounds to be expected at such an early hour. Night shift surveillance at a site where no one *really* expected any action to occur could be so wearing.... 

Soft, wet sounds caught his attention, and he looked over. Blair had finished eating, and was licking some sort of dressing from his fingers. Jim watched as the pink tongue flashed out, ran over the long, slender fingers, leaving a moist trail. Then Blair popped his thumb into his mouth and sucked, and the sight was shockingly intimate and sensual. Unbidden, the thought of something else disappearing between those full lips and into the warm wetness of that mouth sprang full-blown into his mind, and Jim felt a sudden rush of desire so strong it was dizzying. He made a strangled sound, turned quickly into a cough.

Blair looked over at him, pulling the thumb slowly from his mouth. His blue eyes were alight with curiosity. "What?"

//Oh, shit.// Jim shifted in his chair, and was grateful for the heavy concealment of his oversized sweatshirt that hid his sudden erection. //What the hell is going on? Sandburg? For God's sakes, you need to find a woman and get laid, if you're starting to think of him like that...//

"Here, man, take a drink before you choke." Blair handed him up the bottle of water, looking concerned. Jim took it, and a long drink of water. It tasted odd, he realized after a moment, and ran his tongue over the inside surfaces of his lips, analyzing. Water, the echo of sandwich ingredients, and a different, warm, sweet taste...Blair. He could taste Blair in his mouth. Quickly, he handed the bottle back. That was the last thing he needed.

"Thanks." He was surprised his voice was so calm, so steady, when a whirlwind was sweeping through him. He didn't want to think about what he felt, he didn't want to analyze the directions his thoughts had suddenly taken. Blair was his friend, his *best friend,* and he'd be damned if he thought of him in any other way.

"Better?" Blair's solicitousness was beginning to wear on his nerves. He wanted to get up and pace, to work out some of the sudden tension, but didn't dare get up, with his erection so easily seen beneath the tightness of his jeans.

He nodded curtly, and pointedly focused his attention on the inactivity outside, obscenities in all the languages he knew echoing through his head. He may not be as well versed as Blair, who knew several different languages, but Jim knew the swear words--the important parts.

Blair got up, threw away the sandwich wrapper in the recycle bin--he had insisted on setting up recycling, and had hounded the others on stakeout until they'd complied--and returned to his place beside Jim. Jim refused to allow himself to look, but heard the rustle of paper. Probably studying again. //Damn. Couldn't the man just go to sleep?// Maybe, if Blair went to sleep, stopped moving around, Jim could concentrate once more and wipe certain inappropriate thoughts from his mind.

Evidently not, though. Curiosity finally made him look over to where Blair sat on the floor, his legs tucked neatly beneath him in some vaguely yoga-ish position. He was folding paper again, making those little origami figures. He'd been doing this for almost three months. Any available time--at the station, in the truck, watching TV at night--Jim would look over and find him busy. They all looked alike; small white paper birds that took shape beneath the clever fingers, materializing like magic from the squares of paper that always seemed to be with Blair now. He'd never bothered to ask why Blair was doing it; he simply assumed that it was some sort of stress reliever for him, similar to the meditation he practiced. 

"Mind if I ask what the hell you're doing?" The boredom of stakeout finally made him ask for a reason why Blair seemed to spend so much of his time at what seemed to be a child's game.

"Hmm? Oh. I'm folding paper cranes." Blair spoke in a matter of fact voice, never stopping the quick movement of his hands. His long hair had swung forward into his face, and with a flip of his head, he sent it back. The subtle herbal scent wafted upward. Jim could see the peaceful concentration of his face, the way the long dark lashes curved down on his cheeks....

"Yeah, and?"

"Oh, you want to know why, I guess." Blair's obtuseness made Jim grunt with annoyance, but then Blair sent him an amused, sidewise glance that told Jim he was teasing. "I'm making a wish."

"You're making a wish?"

"Sure. The Japanese say that if you fold a thousand paper cranes, that the gods will reward your patience and perseverance and grant you the fondest wish of your heart." He stopped, and held up a little paper bird. Jim admired the curve of its outspread wings, the grace of its neck before Blair set it down on the floor beside him; he doubted his own big hands would perform such a delicate operation.

"A thousand? Sounds like a lot of work to me."

"Well, you've got to work for the fondest wish of your heart. Nothing comes for free." He picked up another square of paper, and began folding again.

"How many do you have so far?"

Blair concentrated briefly as he worked. "I think this one makes three hundred ninety seven. More or less." He flashed a grin at Jim.

"You've still got a long way to go."

Blair shrugged. "I've got time. The world spins, life continues. I'm more patient than you'd think."

Jim was silent a moment. "So, what's the fondest wish of your heart?"

He watched the full mouth curve upward slightly, the dark blue eyes flash toward him, the expression inscrutable. "I can't tell you, Jim. It's like wishing before blowing away dandelion fluff, or wishing on a falling star. If you tell, it doesn't come true. And I'd really like this one to happen." His voice was so wistful that Jim focused on him, looked at him closely. Blair looked up at him again for a second, and for that single, brief moment in time, suspended between one heartbeat and another, Jim saw a longing, a depth of desire so strong that it almost took his breath away. The raw emotion reached out and snagged something within him, connecting, as if a thin, silvery invisible thread suddenly sprang into shining existence and bound them together. And then Blair blinked, and it was gone, so quickly that he was certain he'd imagined it. 

Blair held up another little bird. "This one's wings are crooked. I must be tired. Mind if I go ahead and turn in?"

"No, go ahead. Our relief will be here in about three hours, and I can keep myself occupied until then. You have an early class?"

"Nah, not until ten. I figure I can sleep another hour at home, and make it to the University in plenty of time." Blair placed the cranes on his stack of paper and rose fluidly. He made his way to his sleeping bag, over by the opposite wall. Sitting, he pulled off his sneakers, and rolled himself into the soft bulk, almost in one economical motion. The only thing that showed by the time he was settled was his shining mop of dark curls.

Jim waited until Blair's breathing slowed, until his heartbeat settled into the quiet rhythm of sleep before he bent, and picked up the last paper crane, the one with the crooked wings, number three hundred and ninety eight. More or less. He smoothed it between his fingers, folding it back down flat, and slipped it into his pocket, not wanting to think about why.

~~~~~~~~~~

Even before Blair slammed through the back door to the stakeout house at nine that evening, Jim knew it was him. He'd heard the distinctive sound of the Volvo from around the block, and the quick patter of Blair's heartbeat. Blair flew in, let his backpack hit the floor with a loud thud, and announced, in a terrible Ricky Ricardo accent, "Honey, I'm hooome!"

Subtle? Blair? Never. Nonetheless, Jim felt a warm pleasure at the sound of his Guide's cheerful voice. Blair's presence always centered him, made him feel somehow complete, and if he admitted it to himself, he missed him when he wasn't around, as today. Their schedules had separated after they'd gone home that morning, and he'd not seen Blair all day.

He turned, and Blair was already in the cooler, fishing around in the ice for a ginger ale. He was bent over, and the jeans stretched snugly across his slim hips, accentuating his tight....

Jim spun around to the window again. He felt himself flush to his ears, and willed it to subside. Blair came up beside him, and gestured with the soda can.

"Anything going on, or is the young lady still leading a life worthy of a nun?" 

Strange, how he'd never really noticed before how closely Blair always stood next to him. Certainly close enough for the hair on Jim's arm to stand up beneath his heavy sweater. With him, Blair's personal space was small to non-existent, and it had become so gradually over the years, as the growing trust and friendship had built layers of comfort between them. Usually, it was pleasant, but now...it wasn't. He felt edgy, and moved away just a fraction, enough to give him breathing space. If Blair noticed, he said nothing.

"She went out for groceries, and got back about an hour ago. Otherwise, nothing." Jim nodded toward the tape recorder wired into the phone tap. "The usual phone calls to her mother, and a couple of girlfriends."

"She should at least have a date, or something. A pretty girl like her shouldn't be dateless on Friday."

Jim snorted. "What, you volunteering, Sandburg?"

Blair shrugged. "She could do worse." He slanted a look over at Jim. "She could be dating you."

Grinning, Jim punched him lightly on the arm. "Low blow, Chief. Did you bring anything to eat? I'm starved, and didn't get to stop on the way over here."

"Yeah, but no donuts. Besides being high in fat and sugar, cops and donuts are a cliche, and I won't stand for that. I threw out the ones Brown left."

"I know. You weren't here to witness the tragic weeping and wailing. You'd think they were relatives, or something."

"He'll thank me for it someday," Blair said sagely. "The sack is on the table. Help yourself. I'll watch while you eat."

Jim moved over to the table, and unloaded the paper bag. Thai, and some of his favorites, at that. Considerate. But then again, Blair generally was attentive to his likes and dislikes. He sat and ate, while Blair occupied himself with the binoculars. At first, Blair kept them on the house across the street, then turned them inward, examining things within the room.

"So this is how you see things? Jeez. No wonder you're so anal about the housework." His tone was amused.

"I'm underwhelmed by your wit. Eyes front, please."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, " Blair replied, but did as he was told.

Occupied by the food, it was a few moments before Jim noticed the flow of quiet, and looked over. Blair not chattering equaled Blair studying, or....

Blair asleep. Jim could hear the soft even breath. He wasn't particularly surprised. Blair could fall asleep at the oddest times, or in the oddest positions; Jim supposed it was from being on the fine edge of exhaustion all the time that gave him that particular talent. Jim finished his meal, threw away the mess, and went over to the old, ratty, overstuffed chair that held his sprawled Guide and rescued the binoculars from a loosening grip before they fell to the floor and broke. He didn't want to explain the loss of a piece of equipment that cost several hundred dollars. //Yes, Simon, Blair fell asleep, and broke them. Yes, Simon, I'll turn my head while you kill him. Sure. That would go over very well.//

Even unconscious, Blair was a creature of innate grace, sprawled with one leg draped over the arm of the chair, his head pillowed on the other. One arm was flung over his head, the other, draped in his lap, both hands curled gently in sleep. Jim knew that everyone looked younger as they slept, the everyday cares eased from their faces, but it was even more so for Blair. Asleep, his restless energy restrained, he looked almost like a teenager. Carefree. Innocent. Angelic, almost. 

A heavy lock of dark hair had fallen across his face, and before Jim realized it, he reached down and gently brushed it out of the way. The curls seemed to cling to his fingers like a live thing, warm from the heat of Blair's skin. He rubbed the strands between his fingers, feeling each one like a silken caress. What would it look like spread on a pale pillow, or with his strong hands knotted through it, or swinging free, curtaining both their faces...

Jim dropped the hair abruptly and backed away a step. //Out of control. Way out of control. Damn, damn, damn.// He swallowed, his mouth and throat dry. It was unlike him to obsess about something, especially when that something was so completely against his nature. He'd been sexually active since his late teens, and never, *never* had he entertained any thoughts regarding men. He loved women, their soft skin, their silky hair, the sweet curves of their bodies, the earthy scent of their warm, secret places, the fullness of their hips that cradled him so perfectly, held him as he sought the oblivion of orgasm. 

This sudden turn of his thoughts was bewildering, throwing him completely. He didn't like it, didn't like feeling off-centered. Proximity. That must be it. He and Blair were almost joined at the hip, too close. Maybe he needed to re-establish his own space, reclaim a little of his own identity. Perhaps, if Blair moved out, had his own place, stopped coming so much to the station, he could breathe again.... 

//No.// The pain at that thought was surprising. Jim had become accustomed to Blair, the younger man's attention on him almost complete. He'd felt like a smear on a microscope slide in the beginning, but that feeling had long since passed, and he knew his role as dissertation subject had changed, evolved into one more personal, of friend. Jim knew Blair considered him his best friend, and although he'd never said much of anything in return, the feeling was mutual. Blair had become even more important than Simon in that matter, and given the respect and admiration he had for Banks, both as friend and Captain, that was significant.

Jim looked back at Blair, and felt the tug of that invisible string.

He wasn't sure what possessed him; it had to be one of Blair's countless demons or devils, but nonetheless, he listened and obeyed the sly, insistent little voice within his head. He brought his hand up, fingers hovering scant millimeters above Blair's cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin. Focusing, he could hear the beat of Blair's heart, slow and even in deep sleep. He could hear the soft sussuration of breath, the almost inaudible rush of blood beneath the skin, bodily processes quieted, resting. Blair's unique scent rose to him, stronger behind the sinuous curve of ear and at the base of his throat where the pulse throbbed visibly. He moved his hand over Blair's face and down the long throat, not actually touching. Somehow, he could almost sense the energy of Blair's life, the bright gleam of what Blair or Naomi would have called an aura. It was an odd sensation, compelling, and he unconsciously made a mental note to mention it to the grad student at some time in the future.

Leaning over, he pressed his lips gently over the slightly open, lax mouth. Sensation exploded through him. He was surprised at how soft Blair's lips were, the lush fullness of them, the taste, again warm, sweet, uniquely Blair, the slick smoothness of those perfect teeth. A small taste, a small touch; that was all he meant to take, to sample for a brief second what he'd thought about. A moment, then away, before Blair awoke. 

Blair sighed against his mouth, shifted slightly in his sleep. A small, soft sound rose from the depths of his throat, and his mouth moved gently against Jim's. Jim's heart jumped, like a rabbit in a snare. He pulled back quickly, touched his fingers to his own lips.

//Damn, damn, damn.//

That kiss had felt like...coming home. //What the hell am I going to do now?//

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Jesus God!"

Jim looked down at himself in a mixture of horror and dismay. His hands and abdomen were sticky, covered in a rapidly-cooling pool of semen. He let his head fall backwards onto the pillow. The sheets were damp with sweat, uncomfortable, twisted as if a tornado had ripped through his bed. He turned his head, and looked at the clock. Two-ten in the afternoon.

He was too old to be having wet dreams. Especially when they were about....

//No.// Deny, deny, deny. If he denied it long enough, it wasn't real.

With a muted groan, he rolled out of bed and went down to the shower. He leaned into the hot water, hoping the heat would help ease the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders. Soaping himself, he began to relax, closing his eyes, savoring the gradual release of tension. His hands moved over his skin, and in his mind's eye, the hands became smaller, slender, quick and clever, molding themselves to the hard planes of his body, teasing, caressing, gliding with sensual intent across his flesh. Hands transformed into soft lips, and warm tongue sliding over his nipples, peaking them, eliciting a groan from deep within him, and for a moment, he almost felt the tickling brush of long curls against his chest. His cock stirred, and Jim's eyes suddenly flashed open in panic at the realization of what his mind and body were doing. Reaching down, he savagely twisted the hot water faucet off. Cold slammed into him, and he yelled, his heart accelerating almost instantaneously into triple digits. He forced himself to remain under the punishing spray, until his traitorous body was back under his control.

Frigid, shivering, his teeth chattering, Jim climbed out of the shower and toweled himself vigorously, until his skin had warmed, the bluish tint changing back into a normal, healthy pink. He carefully blanked his mind and, his body on autopilot, went back to his room to dress in sweats, studiously avoiding looking at his stained and rumpled sheets.

Back downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table, with a mug of coffee warming his hands, Jim finally allowed himself to think. Years of introspection and an innately honest nature made him face the truth. He'd dreamed about Blair. Not a buddy dream, either, but one of the most stunningly erotic dreams he could recall having, and he'd had quite a few during his lifetime. He rubbed his gritty eyes with the heels of his hands, then ran them over his face and short-cropped hair.

"Shit," he said wearily into an empty room. There would be no more sleep gotten today. He didn't want to risk a repeat of the dream, and besides, he doubted his swirling thoughts would allow him rest.

He thought for a moment about getting drunk, but dismissed the thought almost as it blossomed. He had to work tonight. It had been a long time since he'd been well and truly drunk, and he really didn't care to repeat the experience of waking up with his senses completely awry, feeling as though he could taste colors and smell sounds. Way too disturbing, too reminiscent of his life before Blair breezed in //Hell, what do you mean breezed--*bulldozed* is more like it// calming his panic, making sense of the chaos surrounding him. Saving his life, saving his sanity. Who would have thought that one small, long-haired intellectual man could make so much of a difference?

He certainly hadn't expected it.

Nor had he expected the way Blair had so thoroughly insinuated himself into his life. Every aspect of his existence seemed to contain something of Blair, even the peripheral ones. Observer at the station. Roommate. The author of a doctoral dissertation with himself as the study subject. His partner. His hiking and camping companion. His Guide.

At first, he'd been so reluctant to let Blair in, accustomed to his completely solitary life, to his chilling aloneness. His entire life, his complete focus, had been on his work, letting no one close, no one within the stone walls surrounding his heart. He hadn't realized exactly how lonely he'd been, until Blair moved in, turning everything upside down. Loud tribal music, incense, meditation, the obsession with improving Jim's diet, the whirlwind of his life as teacher, student, observer. And then there were those damned Sentinel sensory tests--it seemed like millions of them, with Blair's clever mind always coming up with more. It had almost been too much to bear, and he knew he'd not always treated Blair fairly, or with grace. Still, Blair had remained with him, ignoring his moods, always there at his side when Jim needed him, for all his explosive energy, a curiously steady, calm presence.

Somewhere along the line, the abnormal subtly changed to the normal. What he would once have considered weird, or odd, became just another current in the river of their lives together. Perhaps inconceivable, incomprehensible to anyone else, but for him, somehow sane. Bizarre had somehow become standard modus operandi.

But when had his friendship with Blair changed, become this...whatever *this* was? Jim sighed. //Come on, Ellison. Be a man, and face up to what it is. It's attraction.// He was drawn, emotionally and physically, to a man. He tested the theory, thinking about the friends he had, trying to fit each one into the puzzle that was his feelings. None of them fit. He liked them, respected them, but there was no spark, nothing that arced into him, causing the feelings he had, the vital connection he'd sensed when he'd looked into Blair's eyes two nights ago. //No, not just any man. Get it right. I'm attracted to *Blair.*//

There. He'd admitted it. He looked around. The ceiling had not fallen down, nor the walls caved in around his ears. What to do now? It was completely out of his experience. He knew the rules when applied to a traditional male/female relationship, but about a different type? Would they be the same? Would they be different?

Jim shook his head. Was he crazy? He couldn't follow up on this. This wasn't him; it wasn't in his nature. It was an aberration; it was something he could acknowledge, but dismiss. He was heterosexual, almost aggressively so. The concept of being with another man was something he wasn't ready to accept. It wasn't that the thought of physically loving Blair was repulsive--quite the contrary; he could get hard thinking about it. Blair was, objectively, quite pleasant to look at, handsome, his graceful body firm and taut, and his scent, musky and herbal, stirred something within Jim. He genuinely liked him as a person, which was more than he'd had with some of the women he'd slept with in the past. No, it was just that a man didn't live for thirty-seven years thinking of himself exclusively one way, and then wake up one morning and decide to turn his life completely upside down. It wasn't practical, and Jim knew himself to be, if nothing else, a supremely practical man.

Besides, what made him think Blair would share his feelings? Blair dated women; hell, he dated a *lot* of women. Beautiful women, who were obviously taken with him. How often had he come home in the dim hours of the morning, the scent of sex, of woman, enveloping him? How often had he come in on Sunday afternoon from a date started on Friday night, a silly, sated smile on his face, his clothes rumpled, reacting sheepishly to his teasing comments? Perhaps not as often as the guys down at the station thought, but often enough.

No. He wouldn't think about it. This feeling would diminish, and eventually go away. Everything would return to normal. He would see that it did. He was honest enough with himself, but he could also sublimate with the best of them.

He needed some physical activity. He needed to move, to make demands on his body, to run, to lift weights. Anything, to stop the spiral of his thoughts. Jim put on his running shoes, grabbed his gym bag, and was out the door before he could think any further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just stop thinking about it. Good plan, difficult to implement.

The more he tried *not* to think of Blair, of course, the more often he actually did. Being stuck in the same house during the stakeout, the fact that they lived together, and were so much in one another's space....It began to really wear on him. His reaction to small annoyances began to ratchet upwards, and he found himself snapping thoughtlessly at his partner. 

Such as now. He glanced over surreptitiously at Blair, who sat at the kitchen table, with his back pointedly toward him. Jim couldn't even remember what had caused him to bark at Blair this time; he was certain it had been nothing important. All he could remember with clarity had been the hurt he'd seen blossom in Blair's dark blue eyes, sharp and bright, before it had been rapidly smothered, covered over by an answering anger, and a quick, cutting reply that he'd more than deserved. It had hurt; while he'd win any physical contest over Blair, hands down, Blair was quicker than he was verbally, his tongue keen enough to strip flesh from bone. He'd been on the receiving end of Blair's quicksilver anger before, and had almost always deserved the ripping he'd gotten, as he did now.

So here they sat, together in a small room, as far apart as two people could be, physically as well as mentally. Jim could almost sense the coldness of their discord, felt it like a heavy lump in his stomach, and could definitely see it in the rigid set of Blair's shoulders as the young man sat there typing out an anthropology test on his laptop. As much as he didn't like his attraction to Blair, he hated more knowing that he'd hurt Blair, and needlessly. He'd never been a purposely cruel man. It wasn't Blair's fault Jim felt as he did, and it wasn't fair for him to suffer the brunt of his misplaced wrath. Jim sighed.

"Sandburg?"

The set of the shoulders didn't change, nor did the tempo of the typing. "Yeah, what?" 

Jim flinched a little at the residual sharp coolness of Blair's voice. He deserved it. As much as he hated to admit he was wrong, it had become imperative. "Chief, I just...I just wanted to apologize. I'm sorry for starting the argument. It wasn't necessary."

"No, it wasn't," Blair agreed. He typed a moment longer, saved the file, then shut down the laptop. Swinging around, he fixed Jim with a chill, penetrating stare, made all the more potent by the slightly magnifying effect of his reading glasses. He folded his arms across his chest. "Suppose you tell me why you've been acting like an asshole for the past three days, huh, Jim?"

How to explain it? Jim was at a loss. //Yeah, Chief, in spite of a lifetime of sleeping with women, I have this sudden urge to throw you down and fuck you until you scream. Repeatedly.// Oh, that would go over wonderfully well. Blair would leave a sonic boom behind from the speed of his exit, and how could Jim blame him? 

He looked back at Blair, who was beginning to fray with impatience, the corner of his mouth quirking with the expression Jim had learned meant 'gods save me from idiots,' the look he usually bestowed on mid to low-level bureaucratic clones, or difficult students. Jim suddenly understood why it was so effective, and resisted the urge to squirm.

"It's nothing you've done. It's...personal." //Oh, that was going to go over well. He's like a damn bulldog once he gets hold of something.//

"Personal," Blair repeated. "And it has nothing to do with me."

"It's nothing you've done," Jim clarified, and instantly regretted speaking. Blair's left eyebrow raised in a credible imitation of Mr. Spock.

"Nothing I've *done,*" he said slowly. "That implies that it still has something to do with me."

Jim was going to be verbally painted into a corner, if he weren't careful; he could feel it. He turned his head to glance back out the window, hoping against hope that his armed robber was out there with ten of his criminal friends, and all of them armed with automatic weapons. No rescue from that quarter. The street and house were dismally quiet. He took a moment, and gathered himself.

"Just drop it, okay, Sandburg? It's not anything I want to talk with you about, at least, not right now. I have to...process a few things, that's all."

Jim bore the intense scrutiny of those blue eyes a moment longer. "So while you work this out, while you process this 'whatever' are you going to continue to treat me like shit?"

"I said that I was sorry. I won't do it again." He felt his own irritation start to rise--for God's sake, did Blair want an apology written in blood?

But then Blair softened a fraction, just enough to make Jim start to relax a little in response.

"We're like two old tomcats, circling around each other," Blair said, and his mouth quirked in a little smile, wry, but genuine. "Pax?"

"Yeah, sure." Jim paused, and returned the smile, though his was more gentle. "I promise, Sandburg, I'll confide with you someday, but just not right now."

The offer was enough to pacify the younger man, and he nodded. Blair took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes, tired. Jim was about to suggest he turn in, when the cell phone rang. He extracted it from his jacket pocket, and flipped it open. "Ellison."

"Banks," came the abrupt reply. "It's over. Feds in Wyoming collared our boy."

"Thank God."

"Yeah, pull it in. Leave it for Brown and Jacobs to pick up in the morning. You and the kid can head on out. Don't bother to come in until after noon--that'll give you a few hours of sleep." Simon paused, and Jim could hear his captain rub his face with a weary sigh. Jim glanced over at the clock. Two thirty-seven; obviously, the FBI had just woken him up. "You haven't killed Sandburg yet, have you?"

Jim looked over at Blair, and the young man perked up, realizing he was the topic of discussion. "Not yet, but I'd have hidden the body well enough--I don't need extra paperwork."

He heard Simon's snort of amusement and Blair's indignant "Hey!" in stereo.

"All right. Head on out--I'll see you tomorrow." Banks hung up, but not before Jim heard him mutter something about "damn Feds."

"We're free?" Blair was almost childishly hopeful. 

"Yes, they caught him heading east, instead of west, like we thought he would."

"Woo-hoo, great!" Blair was already a blur of motion, gathering up his things: papers, books, laptop, sleeping bag. "I'll finally be able to sleep in a real bed. As much as Japanese culture extols sleeping on tatami mats on a cold floor, I'm *so* not into it. I'm a man who loves his creature comforts. Good food, decent beer, a hot shower, a warm, comfortable bed..." 

Blair rattled on, but Jim had ceased listening. His mind had stopped, fixated on his partner's last words. Hot shower. Warm bed. Somehow, the words became completely entwined with a vision of Blair in both places. Gloriously naked. Willing, pliant, opening to his touch.....

Jim shook the enticing thought out of his head and looked up to see Blair gazing at him in concern. Had he zoned? No, he hadn't been focused on anything; just so deep in thought he'd lost a moment. He shifted uncomfortably, then closed his cell phone and put it in his pocket, simply for something to do.

"Man, when we get settled back home, we're going to have a discussion about whatever's bothering you," Blair said, and the finality of his tone brooked no discussion. 

"Yeah, later, okay, I'm tired, and want out of this shoebox right now," Jim said absently, and began shoving things into his dufflebag, closing off parts of his mind, compartmentalizing with the ease of long practice. //Later. Lots later, as in never. I don't have the courage for that conversation at all. I'm not ready to lose you yet.//

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jim managed to avoid the conversation by simply avoiding Blair. He always seemed to find things to do, errands to run, people to see. He racked up a respectable number of miles on the Expedition, ran an impressive number of miles at the track, lifted hundreds of pounds at the gym. Dismally, he had to acknowledge that his hypothesis had been wrong. Giving himself space didn't seem to matter a damn. If anything, he became more acutely aware of his Guide whenever he did see him. 

Though Blair had several faults, stupidity was simply not one of them. Jim knew Blair was aware of his avoidance, and was surprised at the younger man's lack of protest. It was very...unBlair-like...to simply sit quietly and accept whatever excuse Jim came up with to keep his distance. Jim had the sinking feeling he was simply waiting for the proper time to pounce, and when Blair did, Jim knew without a doubt he'd regret making Blair wait. It was nerve-wracking.

Almost a week after the end of the stakeout, Jim opened the door to his loft and went in quietly. A quick glance at the clock confirmed the time: twelve forty-five in the morning. To avoid going home, he'd gone out with Simon after work. Dinner, a few rounds of pool, a few more rounds of beer, fruitless flirting with the women around them. No, correction. Simon flirted, and Jim sat there like a lump, mentally comparing everyone to a certain off-beat, long-haired hippie grad student, and finding them predictably lacking. It had given him a roaring headache.

Still, he'd stayed, Simon's company pleasant enough outside of working hours, and attempted to exorcise Blair from his thoughts. He'd quit drinking early enough in the evening that he was pleasantly buzzed, loose but not drunk, almost afraid that if he had drank further, he'd have ended up confessing all to Simon. Not a good idea. Simon was a pretty open-minded guy, and he'd known Jim for years, but this particular little confession--oh, Simon, by the way, I'm sexually attracted to Sandburg, wanna pass the peanuts, please--would have earned him that cold, dead, completely intimidating glare the Captain reserved only for the lowest criminal scum. Not the thing he wanted to see, especially when he was having so much trouble dealing with it himself.

Jim placed his keys in the doorside basket, took off his coat, and hung it up. Blair wasn't in the main rooms, and his door was closed. A quick extension of his hearing, and he could detect the heartbeat of his Guide. Waking rhythm; Blair wasn't asleep. What a surprise. The man seemed to exist on the bare minimum amount of sleep. 

With any luck, Blair would stay put, and Jim could escape to his own room. Tomorrow was his day off; he'd have to think of something to occupy his time. Running was good. He could go down to the gym and lift again. Out to eat lunch. Then...what? It was hellacious trying to do everything without Blair. They'd grown so close, and Jim hadn't realized exactly how much he depended on Blair's absolute savor of everything life offered to color his own opinions of things. 

He went to the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, thought about a long hot shower, but dismissed it. It could wait until morning; he was tired.

Coming out of the bathroom, he looked up and saw Blair sitting at the kitchen table. Blair was the picture of patience; slim hands folded neatly before him on the table, eyes calm, mouth quiet. That in itself was unusual. Jim contemplated escape routes for a moment, then gave an inward sigh and went out to the kitchen.

"Still working on something, Chief?" he asked casually. 

"In a matter of speaking," Blair replied, then pushed a mug toward Jim. Coffee. Black. Jim glanced down, and saw that Blair had fixed himself a mug of some sort of fragrant tea. Ah, yes. The imported stuff from England. Passionflower, or something like that. It smelled good, at any rate. //It should, for the amount of money he forked over for it.//

Jim sat down, took a sip of his coffee. He leaned back and stretched; he felt tight with the accumulated tension of the night. Coming out of the arch, he saw Blair's eyes on him for a moment, then flick away. But not before he noticed something flash in the dark blue depths, too quickly gone to be identified.

Blair cleared his throat, straightened a little from his slouch. //Uh, oh, here it comes.//

"I need to talk with you," Blair said quietly. "It won't take long."

That wasn't what Jim expected. He'd expected to see the snap of frustration in Blair's eyes, the avalanche of questions as to why Jim had been avoiding him, a reminder of their delayed conversation.

"Sure, Sandburg. What?" Jim couldn't help the note of wariness in his voice.

"If you're going to appoint yourself judge, jury, and executioner, at least have the decency to tell the accused of the nature of his crime."

Jim blinked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Blair's hands made fluttering motions; he couldn't keep them still for long. "I'd rather that you yelled at me--at least, I have some possibility of verbally defending myself. I can't do anything against the cold shoulder, the avoidance. You've got these huge, thick walls with big iron portcullises, impenetrable. Like those big European castles. When you shut me out, I'm pretty much helpless, and man, I don't like that feeling at all. At least give me a clue as to what you're so pissed about. I can't fix it if I don't know what I've done. Give me that much fairness."

Understanding dawned. "Sandburg--you think you've done something to make me angry?"

"Haven't I?" The spark of challenge returned.

Jim didn't know if he wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness, or not. He settled for not. It would severely anger Blair, and he didn't want a fight starting at a quarter of one in the morning. Still, he couldn't tell Blair the truth. He'd bolt, and that was definitely *not* part of the Ellison plan. He wasn't quite sure exactly what the plan consisted of, only that Blair remain in it.

"No. I'm not mad at anything you've done. Don't I tell you, in *excruciating * detail when I am pissed?"

That brought a sound of amusement. "That you do. For a man who says his vocabulary is limited, it never fails you at those times."

Jim decided on a partial truth. It would have to satisfy his partner's curiosity, because it was as far as he was able to go. "I'm still working through something. That's all. It's almost resolved //liar// and then everything will return to normal." //You're such a liar. Nothing will be the same, ever.//

He met the steady gaze, not backing down. Blair nodded, reluctantly. "I guess it stings that I consider you my best friend, and that you can't confide in me. A kick to the old Sandburg ego."

"It wasn't meant to be. I just...withdraw when I'm doing mental work. It's not personal, I swear. I just tend to get self-absorbed. I'm not like you, willing to talk everything through until it's settled down to the last minute detail."

"Sure, Jim." Blair's voice was calm, but still, Jim could see the doubt. 

They sat in silence a moment. Jim looked down, and saw Blair's fingers moving, folding a napkin into a familiar shape, working unconsciously on it. 

"More paper cranes?" Jim tried to infuse a little warmth into his voice, to reassure Blair.

Blair's smile was a ghost of it's usual brilliance. "Kinda looks like it, doesn't it? I think I fold these things in my sleep, now. Or else they've come to life and started to breed." 

"You never did tell me what your wish is," Jim said. "Has it come true?"

"I don't think you really want to know what it is," Blair said, his expression enigmatic. "And no, it hasn't come true. It may never."

"Come on, Chief, you can tell me." Jim knew he was like a dog worrying a bone, but couldn't help himself.

Blair sighed, then his mouth quirked in an odd little smile. "What the hell," he said.

He rose, and took a step toward Jim. Slowly, he raised one hand, ran the backs of his fingers down Jim's cheek. The touch was so gentle, so intimate, it stilled Jim into immobility. His heart and stomach did a quick flutter and roll. Blair moved closer, leaning in, and Jim knew, with an utter certainty, the younger man wanted to kiss him. A small part of him wanted to jerk away, to rise and put distance between them, but a greater part, the one quiet and curious, the one holding his affection and friendship for his partner, kept him in place, waiting. Blair's eyes, more serious than he'd ever seen them, studied him a moment, then the long lashes lowered as Blair leaned in.

Soft. Blair's mouth was soft, and warm, just as he remembered, his breath fragrant with the scent of his herbal tea. Not unpleasant at all. Different than a woman, yes. Perhaps it was the texture of his lips, the scent of his body, certainly the scrape of five-o'clock shadow. Jim could feel Blair's mouth slightly open, relaxed against his, no attempt to deepen the kiss. Almost chaste. Definitely pleasurable, if he dared admit it to himself.

Blair pulled back a little, and Jim's eyes drifted open to look into Blair's, deep, dark, and shining. There was now no denying the passion, the longing he saw reflected there. Blair's face was open, expressive, and the depths of emotion Jim saw there were almost too painful to bear. He swallowed, hard. Love. There was no mistaking the incandescent glow. Love for him. Blair loved him. With a last caress, Blair started to pull away, slowly, reluctantly.

Jim knew he loved Blair. He loved him like a brother, closer to him than his own flesh and blood. He loved him as his best friend, the one he could share everything with, and be certain all his secrets and feelings would be safe, the one whose loyalty was beyond question. He loved him as his Guide, the one who led him from madness and insanity, the one who had made everything so much clearer, the one who kept him from sliding into oblivion. He loved him as his partner, the one with the clever, agile mind, who knew the oddest, obscurest things, yet managed, with his weird, loopy logic, to help him with his cases more often than he cared to think about, certainly more than he'd ever acknowledged.

He loved Blair in all those ways, and more. Blair had given him so much, had risked his own life so many times to stay at his side. How could he deny him what he clearly longed for so much? Everything seemed to suddenly click together into its proper place, the puzzle pieces all fitting together seamlessly. 

He could not deny Blair.

Jim caught Blair's hand just as it left his face, and Blair's expression flashed into startlement, and a shade of apprehension.

"Is this your wish?" Jim asked, and was surprised by the gentleness of his voice, the husky timbre. "The fondest desire of your heart?"

He watched the rosy color spread across Blair's broad cheekbones, heard the heartbeat as it rose quickly, felt the spike of temperature and scented a wash of pheromones. The answer, without a single word. Blair looked away. When he finally looked back, Jim could see the emotion shuttered, dampened down, a clearly self-protective reaction.

"Sandburg?" Tenacity was one of his best, and most annoying traits. 

"Yeah." His voice was small. He pulled a little, testing Jim's grip; while it was easy, it was unbreakable.

"How long have you felt this way?"

Blair's mouth curved, a rueful smile. "How long have you known me?"

//That long?// If he stopped to think of it, he wasn't really surprised. If Blair had been a woman, he'd not have missed the signals, subtle though they were. Nothing blatant or suggestive. Small things, really. The care with which Blair turned what had been his sterile loft into their home, safe and comforting. The proximity with which he always stood or sat next to him. The seemingly casual brushes of his hand. The fierce protectiveness, the surprising courage he portrayed when he thought Jim in danger. The warmth of his eyes as he looked at him. The changes in Blair's body whenever he was near, the ones only a Sentinel could sense. So many clues, and crack detective that he was, he'd missed every one of them.

"Jim, it doesn't have to change anything. It's just me, and I've dealt with it for a very long time now. I never meant for it to impact on us, to change the dynamic we've got working for us." He pulled again, slightly harder, and Jim instantly released him.

"It will, you know," Jim replied, watching him move to the balcony doorway. Blair crossed his arms and gazed out, but Jim could tell his sight was turned inward, thinking. Blair was a small man, though strongly built, but now, withdrawn, he seemed even smaller, almost fragile. It was a startling revelation. Jim knew people tended to underestimate Blair because of his short stature and youth, but his partner was a lot tougher than he appeared at first sight. He was smart, clever, highly adaptable, surviving with remarkable aplomb whatever his life with Jim had chosen to thrown at him. Jim wasn't sure he liked seeing this vulnerable side of his friend at all. Compared to the usually self-confident Blair, it was unnerving. 

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. We're of different generations, socialized in completely different ways. You had the traditional, hard-nosed, straight-arrow upbringing, and I...well, Naomi was pretty free-flowing, and my lines are very...blurred. I expect you to be uncomfortable." Blair's smile was crooked, a little quirky. "Hell, I expected you to knock me on my ass for kissing you. Almost expected you to throw me out."

"Two years ago, I would have," Jim admitted, and the realization he would have done so, without a second thought, was unpleasant. Two years ago, he'd been a different man, cold, rigid, unfeeling, judgmental.

Blair swung his blue gaze on him. "And now? Do I need to start packing?"

The inward voice that screamed, //yes, get out now, I don't need this kind of mess, I don't want to even think about this// suddenly became very small and distant. Jim needed Blair; he was a part of him, possibly the better half of him. The open, friendly, accepting part of him that he'd kept locked away for so long he'd almost forgotten it was there. The part of him that allowed him to now truly live his life, instead of merely existing, passing time until it ended for him.

"Not because of me," he said slowly. "I'm surprised, though, that you haven't done it because of you."

"Because of me?" Blair echoed. "Why?"

"Three years is a damned long time for unrequited love. You're stronger than me--I'd have left a long time ago."

Jim could see the gentle wash of tenderness in Blair's eyes. "I can't leave on my own, Jim. You're a part of me. I'm your Guide, and the Guide never leaves the Sentinel. More importantly, more basically, you're my friend. I'm committed to you, and on levels far more encompassing than friendship. Believe me, commitment coming from a man who keeps all emotional entanglements at bay, whose basic defense mechanism when confronted with problems of the heart is to run, caused a lot of self-analytic, sleepless nights." He looked faintly self-mocking, amused. "I think I have an overdeveloped flight-or-fight response. Heavy on the flight part. Imagine how I felt when I found I couldn't run from you."

The room filled with silence, but it was light, thoughtful, and Jim didn't feel uncomfortable with it. Jim got up, walked over to his partner, who still stood gazing out the balcony door. The long, unruly curls tumbled forward unheeded into his face. Jim reached out, tucked the hair behind Blair's ear, watched the flash of lamplight off the silver earrings. He could feel the slight shiver of the man beneath the lightness of his touch.

"Coming from you, that means more than ten thousand expressions of 'I love you.'"

"Well, yeah, it surprised the hell out of me, too." He slanted a sharp look at Jim. "So where do we go from here? Everything's changed now, whether we want it to be or not."

Without conscious thought, Jim raised his hand, touched Blair's throat. He could feel the wild hammer of Blair's heart, the heavy throb of blood beneath skin, which warmed instantly to his touch. The quiver of Blair's body was strong enough to be visible.

"We could go upstairs and see where it takes us," he said softly.

Blair's eyes grew very wide in astonishment, then narrowed. Jim was surprised at the flash of anger crossing the expressive face. "There are emotions involved here, Jim. I don't need a mercy fuck."

"And you think I *do* mercy fucks? Think again, Blair. You know me well enough to know I don't do or say *anything* I don't mean." The reciprocal anger Jim had started to experience bled away as he realized that Blair was scared. Very scared, of both himself, and of Jim's response.

Jim slid his hand around to the back of Blair's neck, burrowing under the heavy fall of hair. Gently, he urged the young man toward him, as he took a step forward himself. A symbolic gesture, a giving way of both of them, an equal movement of one toward the another. Blair's body was rigid against his, ungiving, self-protective. Jim wrapped both his long arms around him, enfolding him, enveloping him in his warmth, tucking Blair's curly-haired head beneath his chin. He could feel Blair release a shuddering breath, then his arms unfolded, sliding around Jim's narrow waist. Blair seemed to melt into his body, and Jim could feel him clutching handfuls of his tee shirt.

"Don't jerk the rug out from underneath me, man," he said, his voice muffled against Jim's chest. "I'll fall, and it will kill me."

"I won't. There are emotions here, too. It's not all one-sided." Jim drew a deep breath, decided to run with honesty. "The feelings I have for you...this is what I've been trying to deal with for the past week. I knew I cared for you...that I loved you, but didn't know what to do with it. I didn't know you felt the same way. I was...scared, and just didn't know how to cope."

Blair pulled back, and Jim, although he didn't want to do it, to lose the feel of Blair's body against his, released him. He didn't want Blair to feel caged, imprisoned; he was too much of a free spirit, and needed to know he could move from Jim of his own will. The size differential between them was great, and he didn't want Blair to feel overwhelmed.

Long moments passed, and Jim could see the thoughts, quick as birds in flight, flicker in Blair's eyes. Finally, Blair nodded once, as if to confirm something to himself, and stepped closer to Jim.

"Then let's explore how many sides this thing between us does have," Blair said. His smile was a little wobbly, but warm and true, and Jim felt an answering flush of heat as he took the offered hand. Blair looked down at their joined hands. "Iacta alea est. The die is cast."

Blair moved off toward the stairs, and Jim felt a flash of admiration for his partner. Once Blair decided on a course of action, he followed it without reservation, come hell or high water. At the stairs, Blair released his hand to precede him up, and Jim was drawn to the loose, effortless grace of the other man. The desire to touch was strong, and he rested his hand against Blair's slim hip as they ascended. It felt good, right.

Reaching the side of Jim's big bed, Blair toed off his shoes, bent slightly, and pulled off his socks. He unbuckled his belt, pulled it from his jeans and let it drop, the buckle making a muted clink on the floor. There was no attempt to seduce; just a simple removal of bothersome pieces of clothing, and Jim was touched by the odd vulnerability Blair showed by his unexpected silence and lack of artifice. Without hesitation, he climbed onto the comforter, and lay quietly. His hair fanned out in a dark halo around his head, and his blue eyes were very large. The picture was every bit as entrancing as Jim had expected, and more moving, knowing now the depth of Blair's feeling for him.

"No expectations," Blair said quietly. "However you want to play this is all right with me. Your comfort level."

Jim stood there a moment, his head tilted slightly to the side, considering. He'd had many women in his bed, but never a man. He'd never actually given any thought to ever having one here. He could aesthetically admire a handsome man, objectively realize if he was good-looking, and dismiss it, but as for desire--he'd never felt it. 

Never, before Blair.

The urgency that rose within him was startling. Blair's desire was warm and musky, seeming to call to him on some primal level, and Jim felt the answering of his own body; the quickening of his heart and breath, the slow tightening of his groin. It was surprising. He liked it. It seemed...right, somehow, in some way he couldn't define, and didn't want to take the time to consider.

Blair's attention on him was all-encompassing. Jim didn't think he'd ever been watched so closely in his life as he kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, and removed his own belt. On impulse, he stripped out of his tee shirt, and let it drop. The heat he suddenly sensed coming from Blair was an almost visible shimmer, like that from a highway in the desert. Jim popped the top button on his jeans, but made no further move to remove them.

"Oh, shit," Blair said faintly. He shifted slightly, and Jim had no problem seeing the result of his casual strip in the hard bulge that rose beneath the heavy denim. The speed of the response, the obvious need Blair had for him was a bolt of pleasure that ran through him.

Jim slid onto the bed, a smooth, feline movement, and came to a stop on his hands and knees above Blair, who trembled in his need. The knowledge he had the power to affect Blair so strongly was intoxicating, and Jim smiled at the headiness of the emotion. Blair's eyes were almost black; he could scarcely see the rim of cobalt blue around the hugeness of the pupil. 

The scent of him surrounded Jim, enveloped him, pulled him to Blair, iron to a magnet. He lowered himself enough to bring his nose within inches of Blair, scenting his hair, his face, his throat, his breath. Jim shifted lower. Blair was a potpourri of smell, changing slightly over his chest, his arms, his stomach, his scent still the same, but with changing olfactory notes like a fine wine, depending on, Jim supposed, the number of sweat glands in the area. The basic Blair scent was strongest at the juncture of his legs, heavily overlaid with the musk of arousal, and Jim felt his world narrowing, his other senses subduing, slipping away. He recognized the incipient zone, and snapped out of it. He was aware that he had been nuzzling into Blair's crotch, and pulled away. He looked up, almost embarrassed. Blair's eyes were closed, his hands clenched into the comforter, and he was whispering to himself. Jim caught a soft, "Oh man, oh man, oh man," the litany of a desire so strong that it drove away any sense of embarrassment.

Jim moved back over Blair's body, and lowered himself to the bed at Blair's side, holding himself up on one elbow, his thigh sliding naturally across Blair's. His free hand slipped into the mane of silky curls, tilting Blair's face upward.

"If I'm dreaming, I don't want to wake up," Blair said, his voice a silken whisper. "Not ever."

Jim brushed his mouth across Blair's forehead, over the uptilted nose, resting finally on his generous mouth. "I'm real," he whispered against the moist softness.

Unable to keep still a moment longer, Blair flung his arms around Jim's shoulders, pulling him down, opening to Jim's mouth.

Combustion. Conflagration. Incineration. The stroke of Blair's tongue against his own was fiery, igniting every single nerve in his body. Desire raced through him, almost blinding in its intensity, shocking Jim with its strength. He was dimly aware of Blair's hands moving over his back, his shoulders, his arms, worshipful, tracing the heaviness of muscle beneath his skin. The soft, needy sounds Blair made in the back of his throat traveled a direct path from his ears down to his groin, making him ache and throb, made his body demand fulfillment, resolution. He didn't think it possible to be so aroused by a sound, but there it was, undeniable, evident in the hot swelling of his flesh.

Blair broke for air. Jim could feel him gasping, the heated movement of his breath against his throat. Blair's taste, warm and sweet, was still strong on his tongue. Addicting. Any hesitation, any thought this was somehow wrong had long since fled his mind. He wanted Blair, more than he'd ever wanted anyone else before. The depth of his need was frightening. It crashed through him like a tsunami, sweeping away everything before it. His fingers tightened in Blair's hair, pulling, tilting his head back to possess him again.

Time passed; seconds, minutes, hours, days, for all he knew, or cared. All that mattered, all that was important in his world was the sweetness of Blair's mouth, the tantalizing seductiveness of his tongue twining with Blair's own. Jim knew he was beginning to be rough as he tumbled deeper into a dark well of passion. The coppery taste of blood impacted on his senses, and he forced himself to come out of the sensual fog that threatened to overtake him completely. He'd cut Blair's lip with his teeth; a small wound, and he licked at it, seeking to give comfort. Blair looked up at him, hazy, unfocused, lost in sensation and desire.

Although he didn't want to do it, and his body screamed at him in outrage, Jim made himself pull away, settling on his back, Blair's warmth close by his side. He ran a hand over his face, and could smell the scent of Blair's hair on his skin. He had to stop, to allow time to recollect himself. Never a rough lover, always cognizant of his size and strength, he had surprised himself. Hurting Blair, even in a minor way, was the last thing he wished, or expected. 

He felt a slight shift, and knew Blair had turned toward him, even before he felt the caress of the long-fingered hand on his cheek, tracing a wandering path down to his throat. 

"It's like playing with fire," Jim said, leaning into the touch. "I never expected it to be like that."

"Strange--I knew it would be exactly like that," Blair murmured, and pressed a kiss to Jim's shoulder, his lips warm, tender.

"How did you know?" 

Blair's fingers skimmed across his collarbone, and Jim shivered at the light touch.

"Because you have such an incredible capacity for passion, and you keep it locked away, hidden under a formidable, stony exterior. A diamond buried beneath the boulders of the earth, waiting to be unearthed, to be brought out into the sunlight to shine. I knew it was there. I could feel it." Words. Blair's stock of trade, his tongue a tool, wielding surprising power. Jim felt himself sinking into a cleverly-woven spell, unwilling to break free.

Blair slid over Jim, straddling his body, his strong, jeans-clad thighs on each side of his hips. He sat up straight, and the crack of his ass slid over Jim's erection, a powerful tease. Blair began a slow caress of Jim's chest, and Jim's breath quickened. Blair's touch was light, too light, and he pressed himself up into that touch, seeking stronger stimulation, a firmer brush of Blair's fingers over his skin. He felt like a cat, arching into Blair's hands, seeking the pleasure they offered.

"And I knew that I was the person that could reach your passion, the one who could release it. You were meant for me. I was meant for you."

The glide of Blair's fingers across his nipples, and the resultant pleasurable spark in his blood made it hard to think. "What's that--some kind of New Age karmic thinking?"

Blair's laugh was low, rich. "No. Jewel's CD, 'Pieces of You.' 1997." The flash of his eyes was mischievous. "But truth is truth, regardless of venue. I could quote poetry from the Romantic Era, or from ancient Greece--in the original language, if you'd like--but love is the same. The time just changes."

Blair began a slow, gentle rocking movement of his hips, and the position of his body over Jim's, the heat, the rasp of denim over denim turned it into an intimate, erotic caress that made Jim moan aloud. Jim grasped Blair's thighs, unable to stop the rise of his own hips into the motion. 

"What do you want, Jim? Your choice. Whatever, however you want. I would do anything for you. Anything." The low, seductive timbre of Blair's voice poured over him like warm honey. It started a cascade of emotion through him: excitement, passion, desire, love. Blair's hands moved boldly, possessively over him, running over his shoulders, chest, the concavity of his stomach, gentle fingers dipping into his navel, then slipping back upward to rub his nipples into hard pebbles. He couldn't think, submerging into tactile overload, slipping into a hazy, disconnected place filled only with the sensation of touch and the dark, sweet sound of Blair's voice.

The movement abruptly stopped, and the teasing hands left his body. He wanted to yell a protest, to demand a return of the tormenting touch, but couldn't seem to get his mouth to form the words.

"Too much. Back away from it, Jim. Focus." The sensual tone had turned into the Guide voice, and Jim had no choice but to listen, the urge to obey the compelling voice overriding everything else in his universe. He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. When had he closed them? He wasn't sure. 

"You pack quite a punch," Jim said honestly, and was rewarded by Blair's smile.

"Go forward, or stop? Your choice."

"There's no stop. Not anymore."

"No, there isn't, is there?" Blair's eyes took on a sleepy, dreamy look that made Jim swallow, his throat suddenly dry. //Bedroom eyes. Now I know exactly what that means.// 

Blair grasped the hem of his own tee shirt, and pulled it over his head in a swift, graceful motion. He let it fall to the bed beside Jim's, then shook out his disheveled hair. It settled around his shoulders, a dark cloud. Jim forced his hands to remain stilled on Blair's thighs as he looked. Blair's body was similar only in gender; physically, it was much different than his own. He'd seen flashes of it before in the three years they'd been roommates--living together, it had been pretty much inevitable. Now, however, the circumstances were completely changed, and he could look at him as a lover. 

And what Jim saw pleased him. Blair was small, slender, compact, perfectly proportioned. He was strong, though not with the heavy bone mass, the bulk of muscle Jim had; Blair was built more for quickness, speed, stamina. How many games of basketball, of football had they played together, and he'd never really noticed the agile grace? He noticed, now. 

"When they call you Hairboy, they really have no idea," Jim said, and was rewarded with Blair's rumble of amusement.

Blair was furry; slightly darker than his sable curls, his soft mat of body hair went from chest to flat belly, and beyond, disappearing down beneath the waistband of his jeans, unabated. It was very different than his own smooth, almost hairless body, and he couldn't help the twinge of envy; growing up, he'd always wanted at least a little chest hair, but that wasn't to be. Blair's nipples were the color of cloves, the right threaded with a small silver ring that caught the light and seemed to wink at him, as did the matching ring in his navel. Jim didn't think he'd like them, but he did; Blair was exotic enough to carry it off without looking ridiculous. For him, it worked. It looked natural. 

Jim ran his hands up Blair's arms, and over his chest, raking his fingers through the soft hair. Blair made a contented sound, almost like a purring cat. Jim smiled, then circled Blair's left nipple before rubbing across it, then tweaking it gently. The tenor of Blair's purring changed, and his breath caught a little; good, he liked that. Blair leaned forward slightly, encouraging Jim's exploration, his whole body softening, becoming more pliant, muscles loosening in his surrender to increasing pleasure. Jim let his fingers roam to the other nipple, teasing, before twisting and tugging gently at the little ring.

The response was greater than he'd hoped for. Blair surged forward with a sharp cry of pleasure. Jim could almost feel the arc of vibrant sensation that ran through the other man's body. 

"Is it good?" Jim asked. "Does it make that much of a difference?" He continued to touch and rub both, a little more gently on the right this time, and was rewarded with a soft gasp and a low sound.

"Oh...yeah. It really does. Increases it by a...factor of ten. At least, for me." Blair sounded a little breathless, and satisfaction settled over Jim.

Jim let his hands drift downward, over the flat stomach, feeling the ripple of muscle sliding beneath the skin. He circled the navel, dipped in, tugged at the little ring. That didn't seem to generate quite the same response, just a slight sigh. Finally, his fingers rested on the waistband of Blair's jeans; the nail of his index finger tapped lightly, questioningly against the button, a tiny metallic clicking sound.

That brought Blair's half-closed eyes fully open. He gazed at Jim steadily, not encouraging, not discouraging, his hands quieting on Jim's skin. Jim knew it was his call. They could stop now, if he wished, perhaps come back to it later, perhaps not at all. His choice, completely. He thought of how good it had been just to kiss Blair, to touch him, of how the sounds he'd made because of Jim's attentions had inflamed him. He thought of all the emotions involved; love, respect, desire, friendship. //No turning back now, Ellison. All or nothing.// 

Jim unbuttoned the jeans, and slid the zipper slowly downward.

Blair made a strangled sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, as Jim slid his hand into the opened jeans. //Damn, no underwear.// Somehow, the thought excited him further. He brushed the backs of his fingers across hot, turgid flesh, and Blair jumped as if shot, rising to his knees. Jim cupped the tender genitals in his hand to prevent the accidental bite of the zipper before tugging the jeans down to midthigh, leaving the other man exposed to his view.

Like him, and yet, not. Blair's cock jutted proudly from a tangle of dark hair, thick and full almost to bursting, slick and shiny with pre-ejaculate. All for him, all because of him. For a moment Jim hesitated, unsure.

"Please," Blair whispered, his voice heavy with raw need. "Touch me, Jim."

He couldn't refuse the plea. Jim curled his fingers around Blair's thickness, and the moan that came from his partner resonated deep within him, like a perfect note struck from a tuning fork, whisking away doubt. His hand began a slow movement completely familiar to himself, wholly strange performed for someone else. Apparently, though, as odd, as awkward as it felt to him, Blair enjoyed it; his moans escalated, growing stronger, louder, and the sounds of Blair's pleasure quickened along his nerve pathways, reigniting his own desire. Blair's lithe body arched backwards, thrusting against Jim's strokes. His slender hand curled around Jim's bigger one, subtly directing him, teaching him the rhythm, the firmness he desired. Jim held onto Blair's slim hip with his free hand, balancing him so he didn't topple over.

Blair wasn't going to last long. Jim could feel the gathering tension, the flush of heat racing through his partner's body, centering in a thickening cock, the abrupt flood of semen rushing toward release....Blair howled as the thick fluid poured from him in a hot flood over Jim's hand, the bleachy-salty scent filling the room. Panting, sweaty, chest heaving, Blair folded slowly over Jim's chest, curling up on him, winding his arms around Jim. Jim could feel the frantic beating of Blair's heart against his own chest, the heavy throb of his blood running madly through his veins, the gasps of lungs seeking to find air. Repletion radiated from Blair like heat, and Jim was ridiculously pleased and almost awed he could bring such satisfaction to Blair.

He fished around, found his tee shirt, and swabbed his hand, and as much of the splatters as he could reach without disturbing Blair, who was draped bonelessly over him, a sweet weight. They were going to be glued together; he didn't particularly mind, but it would be much more uncomfortable for his more hirsute lover when it did come time to separate. 

Jim brought his hands up, stroking Blair's smooth shoulders. He smiled as he heard a muffled sound of contentment, then began lengthening the strokes, sliding down the long, lean line of Blair's back. The simple repetitive motion was soothing, the warmth, the texture of the silky skin addicting. Jim decided that he could grow to like this simple caressing very much, and judging by the contented humming coming from somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, it made Blair happy also. His fingers traced lower, dipping into the hollow at the base of Blair's spine, cresting over the swell of buttocks, and Blair wriggled against him slightly.

"Oh, man," he murmured against Jim's chest. "I'm so sorry...."

Jim felt a stab of apprehension. "Sorry for what?"

"I've just wanted you for so long...then to have you really touching me...not just in fantasies...I'm sorry I went off so fast." The muffled voice sounded embarrassed.

Relief coursed through Jim. "Oh. That. I just took it as a compliment to my skill. Thanks, Sandburg, for bursting my bubble."

The tease had the desired effect, and Blair laughed. The movement transferred itself directly to Jim's groin, and he felt the fierce throb of his cock trapped in his jeans. He shifted a little, seeking relief. Blair moved, folding both arms over Jim's chest and resting his chin on them. Jim could see the brightness of one blue eye behind a dark lock of hair, and brushed it away.

"I'm a psychic, you know," Blair said conversationally. The apparent non-sequitur didn't faze Jim; he was accustomed to Blair's sudden mental lane changes, usually performed without benefit of a turn signal.

"Really. I knew you were one for all this New Age shit. So, psychic Blair, what do you know?"

The blue eyes twinkled. "Give me a minute. You can't rush me when I'm channeling." He moved his hips, and the sinuous movement over his erection caused a heavy red rush of sensation that made Jim moan.

"So that's what you're calling it now," he said. His hands moved to grip Blair's hips, stilling them so he could push upward, seeking relief.

"I'm sensing...frustration. The need to relieve a certain building up of bodily fluids...hey!" Blair's voice squeaked as Jim flipped him, tucking the smaller body beneath his, positioning them so he could thrust against him with purpose.

Blair laughed, and the low, husky sound seemed to center directly in Jim's pelvis. He shivered as Blair's hands coursed down his sides, leaving a burning trail, to cup and squeeze his buttocks firmly.

"Hey, man," Blair said softly, "Don't waste it in your jeans. Let's take our party to the shower. I've had dreams about you naked beneath pounding hot water--or was it pounding you beneath hot water..."

The words burned through Jim in a white-hot blaze, incinerating every brain cell he had. He rolled off Blair, ignoring the sticky sound of their bodies parting. Blair was moving, but not quickly enough, and Jim seized him by the wrist, pulling him to his feet, and almost off of them before he realized that Blair was caught in his half-on, half-off jeans. Blair hopped, trying to regain his balance, and Jim was forced to release him when he realized, belatedly, that Blair was going nowhere hobbled by his jeans.

"Jeez, Jim," Blair said, laughing, "Give a guy a minute, will you?" He shimmied out of the jeans, pulling them off and kicking them to the side. "Still, I have to give you credit for enthusiasm."

Jim made himself take a calming breath, and the white haze diminished somewhat. His entire body throbbed with need. If he'd ever been this consumed by anyone, he couldn't remember it. He wanted to beg Blair to hurry, he needed him right now, he'd die if he couldn't touch him...

Blair circled around him, slipped his fingers into the waistband of Jim's jeans, tugging slightly. One hand dropped to caress him though the denim, squeezing lightly, and his body responded with a jerk.

"C'mon. Let's go play," Blair invited, and the smile on his face, soft and sensuous, made Jim's breath catch, his heart jump and start a rapid beat.

Jim wasn't sure how he made it down the steps without falling. He didn't remember the trip at all, didn't remember moving down the hallway, didn't remember entering the bathroom. The tug of denim against his skin brought him out of his fugue state with a start. Blair was stripping him, pulling down jeans and boxers, his expression serious, as if it were the most important task in the world. For Jim, it was. His body screamed at him to get naked *now,* this very moment, and pull Blair to him. Blair's mop of curls tickled his thighs, sending flashes of sensation throughout his entire body. 

Blair stood again, and Jim reached for him, but the smaller man danced away. "No, wait, give me a minute to look at you."

Jim was restless, but tried to remain still beneath the blue regard, giving Blair the opportunity he wanted.

"Oh, man," Blair breathed, his eyes traveling slowly down Jim's body, from close-cropped head to naked feet, his expression awed. "Oh, Jim."

"What?" It was hard to concentrate; he'd been so hard for so long that it felt like forever, and the needs of his body were growing stronger, demanding.

"You're...well, beautiful is too inadequate. God-like is cliched." Blair's eyes narrowed in thought. "Herculean is overworked. You're like...a continent. Now I know how the first explorers felt when they first looked on the magnificence of the New World. Vasco de Gama. Cortez. Magellan. Ponce de Leon."

Jim knew he had to be hallucinating. He didn't need a history lesson, for God's sake...

Blair slid forward. Leaning toward Jim, he placed a kiss on Jim's right nipple, bit gently, then ran his tongue over it, soothing the heated sting. Jim shivered. "The west coast," Blair said. His voice had softened, deepened, taken on the honeyed tones that seemed to run directly through Jim's bloodstream and center in his cock, making him quiver in want and need.

He turned his head, and repeated the action on the other nub. "The east coast." A sound of need filled the small room, and Jim realized it had come from him.

Blair tongued the center of Jim's chest, slow, lazy circles, and Jim was certain he'd go crazy. "The heartland."

Sliding to his knees, Blair pressed kisses combined with gentle nips to Jim's abdomen. "The Great Plains." Jim moaned in earnest, and clenched his hands into fists at his sides to prevent himself from grabbing handfuls of Blair's hair and directing the glib, tormenting mouth where he wanted it most.

He jerked hard when he felt Blair's tongue dip into his navel. He sagged against the bathroom wall. "The Grand Canyon," Blair said, and his voice had a gentle, laughing lilt.

Torture. Sheer, unadulterated torture. Although Blair looked like an angel, he was a devil. Blair's hands ran over his overheated skin, arcs of fire following in the wake of his touch. Caressing, teasing, never still, Blair's touch awakened each cell to screaming awareness. 

"And, let us not forget, the mighty giant redwood," Blair said, wrapping his hand around Jim's cock and then running his tongue over the crown, lapping up the spreading moisture there.

The sensation was so intense that Jim cried out loudly. The beginnings of orgasm sparkled along his nerve endings, bright and sharp, only to be short-circuited by the firm pressure of Blair's hand. A wail of frustration escaped him, and he looked down at Blair, wide-eyed, desperate.

"No, no, no, Baby, we've not had playtime, yet. I want this to be good for you." Blair's eyes sparkled, and his mouth stretched in a wicked smile.

"It *is* good. Jesus, Blair...."

"Hmm. Mi amante es muy elegante," Blair murmured, and rubbed his cheek against Jim's thigh. "Beso," he said, and kissed the thigh, rock-hard with the stress of holding up Jim's body. "Beso el pene," he whispered, and Jim moaned loudly as he felt soft lips kiss along the length of his shaft, gently as the flutter of a butterfly.

Jim felt Blair's hands slide over his hips, to caress his buttocks, kneading gently.

"Que culo grande." The low voice floated up to him, wrapping around him, teasing him with its warmth.

He was helpless, shaking with need and want, his cock throbbing painfully. Blair was working his way back up his body, lips and fingers making flames dance beneath his skin. The rub of Blair's chest hair against his flesh was almost more than he could bear; he was certain that each individual hair burned. The rings in nipple and navel tormented him, smooth and chill against him. Blair paused at his throat, and Jim was certain he would come from the scrape of teeth against his ultra-sensitive skin and the soothing lap of tongue.

"Beso la boca," Blair said against his mouth. Unable to resist, Jim opened beneath the urge of Blair's lips and tongue. Dark pleasure washed over him; Blair kissed like a man possessed. He submitted, swept away by the power of it; somehow, Blair had tapped into the power source of the universe, and Jim couldn't think anymore, just feel, and respond. His arms went around Blair, lifting the slender body up against his, squeezing until he heard and felt the ribs creak in protest.

Blair pushed against him, but Jim couldn't make himself let go, until Blair worked his hands between them and pinched both his nipples, hard. Jim jumped and released Blair with a gasp. The younger man stepped back, face flushed, lips swollen, panting as hard as Jim was.

"Sorry," Jim said, breathing as hard as if he'd run a marathon. He leaned his head back against the wall, trying to collect himself.

"Don't be. Your strength is like a major turn-on for me. But I think it's time to get wet."

Turning, Blair bent and started the shower. The light gleamed off the long, pale length of his back, and Jim was caught by the sight. Blair's legs and ass clenched, and the darkness of his cleft was secretive, concealing a treasure. Jim wanted to seize the slim hips in his big hands, pull Blair to him, and press himself against him, into him, to take him and claim Blair as his....Jim blinked, and pulled his mind away from the thought before the thought became rough action. The patter of water against tile and porcelain was loud, and the room began to fill with moist steam. Blair pushed back the curtain, and stepped in. He held his hand out to Jim, his smile a fey, seductive invitation. As soon as his fingers wrapped around Blair's hand, he felt the connection rise between them, a kind of subliminal humming beneath his skin. 

Hot water slid over him, relaxing him a little, taking a tiny bit of the edge from him. He sighed, and opened his eyes. Blair shook his wet hair out of his eyes, and laughed, the sound of delight echoing off the tiles.

"Neptune arising from the sea," Blair said. "That's what you are." His hands reached for Jim, rubbing bath gel over him, working up a good lather. Jim dialed down his senses a bit; it was too much, the glide of Blair's hands, the slickness of the gel, the minute bubbles popping over his skin, the gentle scent of herbs rising around him, almost obscuring the heavy musk of his arousal. He gasped when Blair's soapy hand slid over his cock, the other cradling his sac, manipulating gently, ratcheting his need even higher. //I'm going to die, he's trying to kill me...//

"Still with me, Jim?" Blair's voice was gentle, checking to see if he was approaching a zone-out. It was immensely comforting to know that Blair was there, watching out for him even now. 

Jim nodded. "I'm still here," he said, his voice hoarse. "Please, I can't take any more...finish it." He was surprised at how needy his voice was, but was beyond caring.

"I'll always take care of you. I promise," Blair replied huskily. "Relax."

Blair maneuvered him so the water sheeted over his body, rinsing the soap from him. Then Blair was kneeling before him, hands gentling him, pushing him against the slick tile wall for support. Jim's eyes popped open at the first touch of tongue against him, excruciatingly wonderful. He looked down in time to see Blair suck him into his mouth, the full lips sliding down his engorged length, tongue flicking around his skin like hot velvet. Wet heat surrounded him, enveloped him. Lightning flashed down his spine, a bolt of raw power, igniting every single nerve, crashing down into his balls and cock....

With a cry torn from the soles of his feet, Jim came, bucking helplessly into that sweet mouth. He could feel the convulsive movement of Blair's throat muscles as he swallowed, once, twice, again. His orgasm seemed to last forever, wringing him out completely, stealing his strength, making him tremble. The moist air seemed too thick, too heavy to breathe. Blair sucked him gently once more, then pulled back. Unable to bear his weight any more, Jim let himself slide down the wall, until he sat, his long legs sprawled awkwardly around Blair. 

His breath rasping, Jim opened his eyes, blinking back water. Blair reached over, and flicked off the shower, which was getting chill. Blair knelt before him, his mouth curved in a satisfied smile, a cat who'd gotten the cream. The brilliance of his eyes was half-hidden by his lowered lashes, spiky and sparkling with beads of water. Beautiful. Jim raised a hand, caressed the smaller man's cheek. Blair leaned into the touch, then pressed his lips to Jim's wrist.

"Te adoro," he murmured, then leaned into Jim, wrapping his strong arms around Jim's neck, pressing close. Jim could feel the rasp of his cheek against his own, smell the scent of himself in Blair's warm breath floating over his skin. Blair's tongue ran over the rim of his ear, teasing, tickling. "Eres toda mi vida," he whispered, then nibbled at Jim's earlobe.

Jim was starting to rouse, the sweet lethargy of sexual bliss fading slightly beneath the double assault of strained muscles and a growing chill. Blair's body was warm against his, but everything else was beginning to take on a cool discomfort. "What did you say?"

Blair's laughter was soft and low. "I adore you. You are my entire life." He brushed a kiss across Jim's open mouth, and Jim could taste himself on generous lips. "Let's get out of here. You're too tall to be anywhere near comfortable, and you know how cold I get."

I adore you. You are my entire life. Jim blinked. What a gift, what a prize, far beyond anything he deserved....

Blair flowed lithely to his feet and stepped out. He peered in as Jim struggled less gracefully to his feet. //Maybe I need to study yoga, like Blair, if he's that agile.// With a muted groan, Jim was up, and out. Blair enveloped him in a towel, and began drying him vigorously. At first, Jim tried to shrug off the younger man, but Blair shushed him. Jim then relaxed and allowed himself to be pampered, as Blair seemed determined to do. When was he was dry, Blair rubbed some of his herbal-scented lotion into his skin, over his shoulders and arms, down his chest, and Jim had to admit to himself the attention was wonderful. No other lover had bothered to do this, and it felt damned good to have someone take care of him.

"You have such beautiful skin. So fine, soft, like satin. I could touch you all day, and never be tired of it." Blair popped around behind him, and Jim heard him sigh in pleasure. "Oh, yeah, man. Que culo grande. Definitely."

Jim turned. Blair's eyes were dancing, and he tried unsuccessfully to dim their light, to stop the quirk of his mouth. 

"Okay, now what does *that* mean?" Jim had a sneaking suspicion he'd be embarrassed by the answer, but plowed on anyway. "What, Sandburg?"

"Um, it's just an appreciation of your aesthetic qualities. Which, by the way, are really rather stupendous, if I might say. Michaelango would die to sculpt you if he weren't already dead..."

"What, Sandburg?"

The blush that rose in Blair's face was an ominous sign. "God, you're relentless. All right, okay. I said, 'What a hot ass.' There. Satisfied?"

For a moment, Jim was silent, and then he felt it, the bubble of affectionate amusement. It grew, expanding, until it broke free into a deep, soul-satisfying laugh. After a moment, he trailed off, wiping at his eyes. Blair bounced on his toes, pleased, and Jim thought the sight of a naked Blair wriggling before him quite an aesthetic sight in and of itself.

"Okay, I can see I'll have to learn Spanish in order to defend myself," Jim said, his voice warm. "Just how many languages do I need to know so I'm not at such a disadvantage?"

"Well, one or two. Actually, a couple more than that. Um, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Spanish, French. A smattering of a few more, enough to swear, order a beer, and get me laid." He grinned cheekily as he dried himself with another towel, then let it drop to the floor. 

"That many?" Jim knew Blair was brilliant, much smarter than himself, but really....

Blair waved a negligent hand. "I have an ear for them. A lucky gift. Besides, Naomi had a thing for foreign men. No matter. Right now, I'm freezing. If I don't get under some covers, and soon, I'm going to turn blue like some ancient Anglo-Saxon warrior, without the benefit of body paint."

He dashed out the door. Jim looked at the towels scattered on the bathroom floor, then shrugged, and headed out after Blair. It was, after all, a night for firsts.

Blair stood at the foot of the stairs to the loft, shifting from one foot to another. He looked uncertain, quite unlike the free, sassy man of just a moment past. Jim placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, turned the smaller man to face him. Blair sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and Jim realized what rose from Blair in waves was nervousness.

"I just realized that I was making a hell of an assumption, starting up these stairs. I don't know that you want me up there with you. I don't have any right just invading your space...you never said anything about it...for all I know, this was just experimentation on your part, with no intent of becoming anything else--"

"Sandburg. Blair." Jim broke into the breathless speech. Blair stilled, and looked up at him. No puppy-dog eyes now; Jim could see a deep insecurity, and not a little apprehension. Jim gathered the slender body close to him, leaned down, and pressed a tender kiss on Blair's mouth. A soft sound, and Blair opened beneath him, accepting the thrust of his tongue. Jim poured everything he had into it, giving the kiss every shade of his love, his affection, his passion for Blair that he could muster. Blair's body molded to his, melting against him, the young man's arms sliding around him. They swayed together until the need to draw a deep breath made them break the kiss. 

Jim looked down into Blair's face, soft and vulnerable with passion. His eyes opened slowly, and a sweet, gentle smile curved the full mouth. Tenderness swept through Jim, almost as strong as the desire he'd experienced earlier. 

"I want you there with me. I want you invading my space. This was more than simple experimentation. It will become whatever you need for it to be. I know I don't talk much, but know that when I do, I'm damned serious about it." He nuzzled Blair's neck, nibbled at the earlobe, and licked the soft skin just beneath and behind the ear. A deep moan was his reward, and a fine tremor coursed through Blair's body. He clutched Jim closer, if it were possible. "Now, if you're not up the stairs and beneath the covers, ready to be cuddled, and touched, and kissed, within two minutes, I'll be forced to resort to caveman tactics, and carry you up there over my shoulder, like a sack of flour."

Blair's eyes flew open wide, and Jim saw the quicksilver flash of his thoughts, the sensual light of beginning desire. "Oh, man," he breathed. Then, stronger, teasingly, "You would, wouldn't you?"

"One minute, forty-five seconds."

Blair broke away from him and tore up the steps, half-stumbling over one of them. The sight of the lithe, naked body, pale in the dimness of the room, pleased him, satisfied him, made him feel complete. "Blair!"

The young man stopped at the top step, and half-turned. "Yeah?"

"Que culo grande," Jim said, sincerely.

Delighted laughter rang through the loft. "You just wait and see exactly how much, lover." With a whoop, Blair launched himself at Jim's big bed, and Jim heard the squeak of bedsprings when Blair bounced as he hit the mattress.

Jim shook his head affectionately. "Youth."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jim swam slowly to consciousness, reluctant to leave the velvet comfort of sleep. But his bladder was screaming rude things at him, promising dire consequences if he ignored it. At first, he was disoriented; something was different, odd. He opened his eyes, his Sentinel vision adjusting in a heartbeat, snapping the dark room into clarity.

Blair. That's what was different. Jim relaxed instantly.

Blair was wrapped around him completely. Jim was unaccustomed to sleeping with anyone, and the sensation was strange; not unpleasant, though. Warm, pliant, solid, reassuring--yeah, he could really learn to like having Blair next to him. 

His bladder was now the tyrant of his body, demanding immediate attention. Jim began to untangle himself from Blair. Not an easy task; Blair clung like velcro, making soft, disapproving sounds in his sleep. Jim finally managed to free himself without waking the younger man, and watched him as Blair curled into the spot he'd just occupied, seeking his heat.

Jim made his way downstairs, his vision keen enough that he didn't need a light. He relieved himself, washed, then looked down at the towels on the floor. His tidy nature reasserted itself, and he hung the terrycloth over the shower curtain rod to dry. A scent teased at him, and he stopped in mid-turn. He buried his face into the towels, and the mingled scent of himself and Blair surrounded him. They blended into a unique scent, neither one nor the other, but a mix, one enhancing the other. Jim smiled at the analogy; it was true. Together, they were better than they were individually. 

A warm feeling spread through him, and still smiling, he looked up into the mirror. Odd. He didn't look like a man who'd had his entire existence turned on its ear. He looked pretty much like the same Jim who looked back at him every morning as he shaved. But he wasn't. He'd been changed, forever. Nothing would ever be quite the same.

Regrets? At the moment, he had none, and hoped that he wouldn't. He was realistic enough to know that they would have problems--some big ones, such as reactions at the station when everyone eventually found out about them. Jim had seen the results when some of his fellow officers had come out, and it hadn't been pretty, in spite of all the talk of equality and integration. He knew Simon would support him; they'd been friends for too many years, and Simon's own fair nature would not allow him to be persecuted without retaliation. It was too early to start actively worrying; he'd cross that bridge as he came to it. Right now, he was happy, and that's the emotion he wanted to run with at the moment.

"Oh, damn," he murmured, looking more closely at his reflection. A series of reddened love bites decorated his chest, and he looked down at himself. The string of bites continued down his belly in a drunken line, finally ending at the crest of his left hip. A few scattered over his inner thighs. He'd realized their necking had gotten heavy, but he hadn't known exactly how carried away Blair had gotten; he'd been in such a haze of pleasure he'd not paid attention. //The little savage. House rule number four hundred seventy three. No marking Jim where it can be seen.// He examined his neck carefully, and relaxed when he saw only light scratches made by Blair's teeth, already almost faded completely. //Paybacks can be hell, me boyo.//

Clicking off the bathroom light, he went back upstairs. He shut off the alarm on his clock radio. It was his day off, and he wanted to hold Blair next to him, to sleep in and wake up in his own sweet time. Jim started to get back into bed when a thought occurred to him. He opened the drawer of his bedside table and took out a folded piece of paper. It was one of the paper cranes Blair had made. Number three hundred and ninety-eight. More or less. The one with the crooked wings. Taking the wings, he pulled slightly, as he'd seen Blair do, and the body opened up, becoming three-dimensional. The wings curved gently, and the neck was graceful. Carefully, he set it on the top of the bedside table, where he would be certain to see it first thing in the morning.

He slid into bed. Blair turned toward him instantly, not waking, and curled around him again. Jim tucked the small body in close to his, the curly-haired head resting on his shoulder, warm breath ghosting across the skin of his throat. Content, he drifted back to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jim awoke first, sunlight streaming in the clerestory windows, sliding across the floor to form pools of warmth. This time, Blair's presence didn't startle him. Blair lay on his stomach, face turned toward him, his right arm and leg bent at an angle, his left arm extended, his hand on Jim's arm. Sometime during the night, he'd either kicked off his covers, or Jim had stolen them. It really didn't matter; he was afforded an uninterrupted view of his lover's body.

It was a pleasure he hoped he'd never find ordinary. Blair's cheeks were flushed with sleep, the shadow of his beard heavy, dark. Jim was willing to bet if the kid didn't shave for just a few days, he'd have a respectable beard. He tried to think of Blair with a beard, but didn't like it much; it would blunt the freshness of his face too much, make him too serious-looking. His rosy mouth was slightly open, still swollen from their marathon of kissing after they'd gone to bed. Jim wanted to lean over and press one more kiss over their softness, but restrained himself.

He shifted closer to Blair. The long, smooth line of Blair's back beckoned him, and he complied. He nuzzled into the back of his neck, beneath the fragrant tangled hair. The skin was so soft there; he placed a kiss on that sensitive spot, and was rewarded by a sleepy murmur. Wonderful. Jim worked downward, placing kisses on the indention overlaying Blair's spine, feeling the minute flex of muscles beneath his lips. Each shoulderblade earned a caress with his tongue, and he decided he liked the taste of a sleeping Blair so much he continued downward, painting each vertebra with his tongue. 

He could feel Blair waking up beneath his touch, becoming fully aware by the time he'd reached the hollow of his back, just above the swell of buttocks.

"Man, I'd better not be dreaming, because if the alarm wakes me up out of this, I'm going to be *seriously* pissed," he said, his voice muffled and fuzzy with sleep.

Jim nipped the flesh of Blair's left cheek, hard enough to leave a reddened place, but not to break the skin.

"Yaah!" Blair jumped, and twisted a little to glare at Jim . "What are you, a cannibal?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Professor. You look so sweet and innocent, but it's just cover for an evil, savage nature." 

"What are you talking about?" Blair half-turned to look at Jim, who sat back on his knees and let Blair see all his marks. Blair's eyes widened as he followed the trail down Jim's body.

"Oh, Jim. I didn't realize...are you mad?"

Jim felt a silly grin slash across his face. "I treasure each one. Just make sure you don't leave any where they're visible, or your ass is mine."

"Ohhh. Y'know, Jim, it's yours, anyway." Jim felt Blair's temperature increase, and his heart speed up a little. The smile Blair offered him was promising, and Jim could feel himself responding. He'd been half-hard as he'd kissed down Blair's back, now, with the invitation, he could feel his blood migrating south, gathering in his pelvis, lifting his cock. Blair laughed as he watched the swift change in Jim's body. He wiggled his ass at Jim, and spread his legs further apart.

"I didn't mind what you were doing--at least, until you bit me. And even that can be great, in the right context." He stretched out on his stomach again, cradling his head in his arms. "Feel free to explore. Whatever you do will feel good."

"What an invitation. I'd be rude to refuse."

"Yeah, you don't want Miss Manners giving you a dressing down because...oh, that's nice." 

Jim smiled as Blair wiggled against his caress. He let one finger slide, ever so gently, down the shadowed cleft, from the bump of bony tailbone, to the soft heat of scrotum, and back again, slower on the return trip. A sound escaped Blair as he ran over the puckered entrance of his body; Jim liked the moan, so he did it again, pausing to press slightly against it. Blair wiggled again, and pushed back a little, and the fingertip popped just inside, causing them both to gasp.

For a span of heartbeats, Jim didn't move, then hesitantly, tentatively, he pressed inward, until he encountered the tight inner muscle, and pushed against its tensile strength. He stopped to listen to his partner. Blair's heart was rapid, his breathing quicker, more shallow. Fear? Excitement? A measure of both? Pain? Looking up, he saw Blair's hands clenched, and the sight made him pull back. Blair moaned a protest when Jim's hand left him.

//We need something. What?// He slid off the bed, opened the drawer of his nightstand. A quick rifling of the contents produced what he sought. He felt eyes on him, and turned his head to see Blair looking at him, head still pillowed on his arms. Jim held up the tube of oily massage ointment, and Blair's eyes crinkled in amused approval.

"Good boy," he said. "Bet you were a scout."

"Eagle scout," Jim confirmed, and slid back in beside Blair. He eased Blair onto his back, amidst gentle protests.

"I liked what you were doing," Blair said, but softened against Jim, curving into his embrace.

"You'll like it again," Jim promised, and captured Blair's willing mouth with his own.

He'd thought that after all the kissing they'd done in the night, that he'd be accustomed to it, that it wouldn't be as exciting as it had been. He was wrong. Blair's mouth was hot and sweet, giving, accepting, and Jim felt like he could do this forever, willingly, happily.

Other spots clamored for the attention of his mouth, though. The firm curve of Blair's ear, the soft resiliency of his earlobe. The soft salty-sweet flesh just below his ear, the place that made Blair whimper helplessly as Jim licked, bit gently, and licked again. The strong tendons that arced down toward his collarbone. The curve where neck flowed into shoulder; ah, that was a particularly tasty place. The angular sweep of collarbone, and the tempting little notch in the center, where Blair's heart fluttered like a trapped sparrow. A sheen of perspiration collected in the hollow just above the collarbone, and Jim slid his tongue along the indention; salty Blair.

Jim slid further down Blair's body, tasting, smelling, touching, listening, spreading out his attention so he wouldn't be ensnared by any single sense. Chest hair tickled his nose before he found Blair's left nipple. Sweet-salty again, hardening and rising beneath the avid attention of teeth and tongue. Blair's hands came up to clutch at his hair, but slid uselessly over the impossible shortness of it. Jim could feel the rumble of his partner's moans deep within the chest beneath him. He smiled, and switched to the other brown nipple.

More metallic, and the ring threaded through the hardened nub felt cold, and alien in his mouth. He didn't like the intrusion on Blair's taste, but the sounds Blair made as he sucked and flicked the ring with his tongue, more than compensated for his mild dislike. Blair's moans began as deep, almost painful notes in a low, intense tones, then escalated in volume, moving into an upper register. Excitement flowed through Jim to hear the progress, making him feel strong and potent. Blair's body thrashed beneath his.

"Ow, ow, OW! Dammit, Sandburg..." Blair's scrabbling fingers had fastened firmly on his ears, pulling, hard. Jim was forced to release his hold, to grab Blair's hands before he pulled his ears from his head.

"Stop. Let me turn over, please, now, right now, please!"

Jim shifted upward so he could look at Blair. His partner's face was flushed, sweaty, eyes dark with need. Absolutely gorgeous, as beautiful as anyone he'd ever been with. Jim smiled, and pressed a kiss to one corner of Blair's mouth.

"Tell me what you need," he said softly. "Tell me what you want." Jim shifted so Blair could no longer rub against him, and Blair's hands on his body fluttered restlessly.

"I need you. Need you in me. Want you to take me..." Naked desire, and it was as sweet as chocolate, heady as wine. Blair's scent wrapped around him, driving his own needs higher. Jim kissed the other side of Blair's mouth, then sucked at the moist lower lip. 

//He's reduced to one syllable. Not bad, Ellison, not bad at all.// 

Jim moved aside, and with a sinuous motion, Blair slid to his stomach. Jim heard a hiss, then saw the subtle movements as Blair shifted to accommodate his erection. He felt a stab of pity for the younger man; he knew well how difficult it was to find a comfortable position when erect. Blair's face was turned toward him, but he could see little except the wild curls, and the upward tilt of Blair's nose. Jim reached up, smoothed the long hair away from the expressive face, and was rewarded by a sensual smile.

"Are you certain you want this? Are you sure, Blair?" One last chance to change his mind...

"I've been sure for three years," came the shaky reply. "Please."

"You've done this before?" Jim saw the quick nod, then pressed again. "How long has it been?"

Blair's mouth quirked, and his words were an echo of those he'd spoken the day before. "How long have you known me, Jim?"

//That's a long time.// Concern deepened his voice. "I don't want to hurt you...."

"You won't hurt me. You could never hurt me." Then, so softly, even Jim almost didn't hear it, "I've saved myself for you. All yours, no one else's. There will never be anyone else."

Warmed by a rush of tenderness, Jim smiled, kissed the cheek, the ear, the shoulder available to him. A gentle nip at the curve uniting neck and shoulder; Blair hummed with pleasure. Jim worked his way down the spine, letting the taste and the scent carry him along. He pressed a last kiss to the bump of tailbone, then shifted so he knelt between Blair's thighs.

He'd done this before on occasion, but with women, of course. He knew the mechanics, what he needed to do. But somehow, it was different, now. It wasn't specifically that it was a man who lay compliant before him, not exactly. It was something basic, more important than mere gender issues. The realization came to him with tender warmth. It was the fact that it was Blair, and that he loved him, giving it a sweeter cachet, a sense of importance. Blair's trust in him was absolute; if he'd never seen it before, here was proof, undeniable. 

"Jim?" The muffled voice cut through his thoughts, checking to see if he was all right.

He stroked Blair's left hip. "I'm fine. More than fine."

Blair settled again. Jim flipped open the tube of massage oil, squeezed a generous amount into his palm, gave the container a toss onto the bed. It was cool, oily-creamy, and the scent of evergreens rose to tickle his nose. He let it warm in his hand a moment, looking down at the firm, willing body, and felt a heat sear through him. //Mine.//

Jim tipped his hand, and let a bit of the warmed oil dribble down into the shadowed cleft. Blair hissed, and wriggled at the sensation, then whimpered as Jim let his fingers move along the path of the oil, passing the tight opening once, then circling back, to brush more firmly against it. He paused, then pressed in a little. The sound coming from Blair was encouraging, so he pressed in deeper, until he came to the tight inner ring. Withdrawing, he began a repetitive rhythm; slide in gently, stretch a little, slide back out. Easy, carefully, so as not to harm tender flesh--hurting Blair was the last thing he wanted to do.

Evidently, he was doing something right. Blair's moans were louder, and he was starting to push back against his fingers in time to his inward press, arching against him, drawing him deeper. The little wanton twist of his hips was almost Jim's undoing; he could just imagine feeling that against him.... Blair's fists were clenched into the sheets, his knuckles whitening. Reflexively, he checked heartbeat and breathing; rapid, but not dangerously so. Musk, both his and Blair's, rose strongly around him, mixing, and he was almost unable to tell the difference. Reluctantly, he took his fingers from Blair's body, and the cry of protest was piercing.

With a shaky hand, he slicked the rest of the oil on himself. He drew an uneven breath; it was almost too much stimulation. He could feel his entire body tremble, quiver with need, and he made himself pause, take a couple of slow, deep breaths, working out the tension.

Calmer, he stroked the hollow of Blair's back. "Are you ready?" //Say yes, I can't hold out much longer.//

"Yes," came Blair's whispered reply. "I want you."

Jim flowed up over his body like water, a dark tide of passion. He could feel Blair tremble beneath him, equal amounts of desire and apprehension. Jim knew his size and weight were intimidating, and kept as much of it as possible off the smaller man. He slid his cock a couple of times into the cleft, letting Blair become accustomed to the feel of him, then slowly, brought himself to the entrance.

Blair was whispering, and Jim caught it; soft pleadings for him to do it, and do it *now.* He pressed forward, letting his weight open Blair beneath him. The pressure was great, the resistance firm enough that he started to pull back, thinking maybe he'd not prepared Blair well enough. Blair's fingers closed vise-like over his forearm, and with a muffled protest at his beginning withdrawal, thrust back, hard. He slid past the resistance, seeing quick sparkles behind his closed eyelids.

//Oh, God.// Their gasps matched as he held himself very still, letting Blair become accustomed to his size, his fullness within him. The slim body was tense beneath his, taut as a crossbow's drawn string. Jim nuzzled the nape of Blair's neck, pressed tender kisses to the soft skin curving to his shoulder, murmuring nonsense words, stroking Blair's arm with a free hand, seeking to calm him, to help him relax. Finally, Blair's breathing evened a bit, and Jim felt the gradual release of tension. Slowly, gently, he coaxed Blair's body to accept him, pressing forward inch by inch, and after an eternity, his own body was nestled completely against Blair's, united as closely as two could ever be. Jim could hear Blair's breath catch, trying to breathe beneath him. He slid both arms under the younger man, one around his chest, the other around his waist, and rolled with him to their sides, spooning in closely, not losing precious contact. Blair caught his breath in a deep rush, sinking himself deeper onto Jim's flesh with a little wiggle.

Tight. Tight, and hot, like being wrapped within folds of heated silk. Jim let his senses stretch out. He could feel the hammer of Blair's heart against his skin, and it seduced his own to a higher level; he could feel the echoes of it in the rippling heat that surrounded him. The rush of blood was like a river, sweeping them away, flotsam and jetsam on a current of passion. Jim slid his hand down Blair's stomach to encircle his cock. The fierce erection had faded somewhat with the momentary pain of entry, but even now was returning at his touch. He could feel the hot pulse of blood through rapidly-filling tissues, led there by his gentle stroking. Blair made a small, pleasured sound that rumbled between them, echoing through their joined skin. The sharp tang of apprehension had faded, and pheromones rose again, intoxicating. 

Jim let his fingers comb through the silky chest hair, seeking and finding a nipple, teasing it into a peaked knot, his other hand moving in the gentlest caresses over the velvet skin of Blair's cock. Jim felt the sense of connection between them, stronger now. Although his long body folded around Blair, covering him almost completely, he had a faint, echoing sense of being held. Enfolding and enfolded. Caressing and caressed. Taking and taken. Himself, yet Blair. It was odd, it was scary, it was...perfect. He licked down the sweaty curve of Blair's neck, then nibbled, the barest scoring of teeth on skin.

The need to move came almost the same instant as Blair's whispered plea. Jim let himself move, a slow, gentle rocking, beginning with the subtlest of motions. Sensation rolled through him, incredible, delicious, intense, starting in his cock, spreading through his body, teasing pleasure from his nerve pathways. Blair's voice rose and fell, words and incoherent sounds; he couldn't spare attention to distinguish them, only to feel their sweetness, dark honey flowing over him.

There was a momentary fluctuation in their movements as they sought to find a rhythm that suited them both, and then it was there, the perfect feedback loop of sensation. Blair's body moved against his hand, then back onto his cock as he thrust forward with growing confidence. The heated tightness of Blair's body, and the cachet of illicit, forbidden pleasure was almost overwhelming, driving him toward release. He struggled to hang on; it was too good, and he wanted to feel like this forever, to experience the incredible pleasure and the sense of synchronicity. But he could feel himself swept inexorably toward completion, and increased the speed and pressure of his hand on Blair's cock, determined to bring pleasure before taking it.

Jim could feel the increasing spiral of Blair's pleasure, could sense the sweep of fire through the small muscular body. Jim suddenly remembered something Blair had said, and his fingers sought out the cold metallic ring in the peaked nipple and pinched and twisted firmly. Blair was suddenly still for a heartbeat before tensing, shuddering, and coming with a shriek that almost deafened him. 

The strong, convulsive grip of muscles around him was his undoing, and his orgasm slammed into him with the intensity of a train, running over and through him, a pleasure so keen it was almost agony. His seed seemed to boil out of him in waves, and the sense of connectedness was there again; he could feel himself both filling and filled. Connected, completed, at one with the one he loved.

Heavy and exhausted with repletion, he sagged against Blair, his grip loosening enough to let the younger man draw a breath again. The edges of his vision greyed, and little sparkles danced randomly in front of his eyes. Never before had he come so hard he'd almost passed out. He automatically took a quick stock of himself; breathing ragged, heart rate in triple digits, the aftershocks of his experience skimming through him like ripples on a lake. He'd never felt so wonderful in his entire life.

As he slowly returned to normal, Blair stroked his arms, quiet in his embrace. Jim didn't think he'd ever seen Blair so still except when he slept. He wondered what thoughts flowed though the agile mind, if Blair was so completely satisfied, as he was. He'd not really expected the experience to be so intense, hadn't thought he'd like it as much as being with a woman. Wrong, on both counts.

Blair made a little distressed sound as Jim softened and slipped from his body. Jim mourned the loss also, wanting them to remain together, if only for a little longer. Blair made a minute movement seeking to escape Jim's embrace, and reluctantly, he released him. For a moment he was afraid Blair was leaving him, but relaxed as his lover merely turned to face him.

"Jim?" Blair's voice was very soft.

Jim raised a hand, smoothed sweaty hair out of Blair's face. Of its own accord, the movement turned into a caress, his fingers sliding over the broad cheekbones, the sharp angle of jaw, over the generous mouth. //Exasperating, beautiful, giving mouth.// Jim leaned forward and pressed a kiss there. "Yeah, sweetheart?" 

The endearment slipped out before he realized it, and he was mildly surprised that it didn't feel all that much out of place. Blair's face colored slightly, but a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. 

"Did you...like it? Was it okay?" Blair tried to keep his voice neutral, to keep the anxiety and hope out of his tone, but Jim knew him far too well to be fooled.

It took Jim a moment to realize what Blair was talking about; his mind was getting fuzzy from exhaustion and the relaxation following a mind-bending orgasm. He smiled, traced his fingers down Blair's long neck.

"It was so far beyond *okay* that I can't even begin to describe it. It was passion, and fire. I never felt so much a part of anyone--it was like I could feel your responses almost as if they were my own. That's never happened to me before."

Blair smile was gentle, wondrous. "So you felt it too. I wondered if I were hallucinating." He raised a finger, traced over the edge of Jim's ear. Jim could feel the heat, knew they were probably still red. "Sorry, Jim. I just got a little...carried away, I guess."

The chuckle rose from deep within his chest. "You're a fierce little thing. Marks, bites, scratches, missing body parts--what's next, Blair?"

Blair blushed again, then threaded his arms around Jim's neck. "You like it," he said, his voice low, conspiratorial. "I know you do. You like knowing you can make me lose it. You've got this smug look in your eye right now that makes me want to...to..."

"To what?"

"It makes me want to fuck you silly," Blair said. Jim wasn't sure what expression crossed his face at that time, because Blair laughed and said, "But not right now. Even I don't have that fast a recovery time. Later." He pressed a warm, tender kiss to Jim's mouth. "We have so much to explore together--our whole lifetimes."

"And even that may not be enough," Jim murmured. "But it's a start."

Blair's mouth curved, and he shifted, moving closer, making little settling-in motions. Jim let him find his position of comfort, heard the sigh of contentment, then wrapped his arms around the smaller man. Tangled with Blair, his eyes started to close when his attention was caught by the flash of white on his bedside table.

His own mouth smiled. The paper crane. Number three hundred ninety-eight. More or less. 

~~~~~finis~~~~~ 


End file.
